THE  MORNINGSIDE  PLAYS 


MORWNG5IDE 
PLAYERS 


Hattie: 

by  Elva  De  Pue 

One  a  Day : 

by  Caroline  Briggs 

Markheim : 

by  Zellah  MacDonald 

The  Home  of  the  Free: 

by  Elmer  L.  Reizenstein 


With  an  introduction  by 

BARRETT  H.  CLARK 


FRANK  SHAY  AND  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK 


Morningside  Plays 


Uniform  with  this  Series: 

We  PROVINCETOWN  PLAYS 

First  Series: 

Bound  East  For  Cardiff.   By  Eugene  G.  O'Neill. 

The  Game.   By  Louise  Bryant. 

King  Arthur's  Socks.  By  Floyd  Dell. 

Second  Series: 

Suppressed    Desires.     By  George  Cram   Cook  and   Susan 
Glaspell. 

Third  Series: 

The  Two  Sons.   By  Neith  Boyce. 
Lima  Beans.  By  Alfred  Kreymborg. 
Before  Breakfast.   By  Eugene  G.  O'Neill. 

Fourth  Series: 

Sauce  for  the  Emperor.  By  John  Chapin  Mosher. 


THE  MORNINGSIDE  PLAYS 

HATTIE 

A  drama,  by  Elva  De  Pue. 

ONE  A  DAY 

A  fantasy,  by  Caroline  Briggs. 

MARKHEIM 

A  dramatization  by  Zellah  Macdonald. 

THE  HOME  OF  THE  FREE 

A  comedy,  by  Elmer  L.  Reizenstein. 


With  an  Introduction  by 

BARRETT  H.  CLARK 


NEW  YORK 
FRANK  SHAY  AND  COMPANY 

1917 


Copyright  1917 
The  Morningside  Players,  Inc. 


These    plays  in   their   present    form  are    designed    for 
th«  reading  public  only,  and  no  performance  may  be 

Piv^-n    without    arrangement    with     The    Morningside 
layers,  inc.,  Ea^l  Hall,  Columbia  University,  New  York 


Introduction 

The  Morningside  Players  came  into  existence  a  few 
months  ago  as  the  result  of  a  definite  need  on  the  part  of 
a  few  persons  who  were  interested  in  the  making,  pro 
ducing,  and  witnessing  of  plays.  It  is  not  the  purpose  of 
The  Morningside  Players  to  add  another  burden  to  the 
long-suffering  public,  to  uplift  the  drama,  to  exploit  any 
particular  movement  or  group  of  dramatists ;  the  Players 
are  not  a  zealous  group  of  reformers  eager  to  resuscitate 
the  art  of  the  past  or  discover  the  drama  of  the  future ; 
they  refuse  to  ally  themselves  with  any  coterie  or  indi 
vidual.  These  people,  amateurs  for  the  most  part,  had 
been  writing  plays  for  some  years,  and  while  they  were 
fully  aware  that  the  mere  writing  of  plays  might  in  itsdf 
be  of  value  and  interest,  their  work  would  probably  be 
rendered  fruitless  unless  it  was  produced.  The  sporadic 
amateur  production,  under  auspices  which  would  be  none 
too  favorable,  was  not  sufficient  incentive  to  urge  them 
further,  and  they  decided  to  organize  an  association  whose 
business  it  should  be  to  produce  the  best  of  their  plays, 
with  the  collaboration  of  such  professionals  as  would  lend 
their  services,  at  some  down-town  theater,  looking  forward 
meanwhile  to  a  playhouse  of  their  own. 

Early  in  the  present  year  Mr.  Hatcher  Hughe?,  of  Col 
umbia  University,  together  with  two  or  three  of  his  pupils 
and  two  others  organized  The  Morningside  Players.  At 
that  meeting  the  aims  and  policy  were  set  forth  in  the 
following  words : 

'  .  .  .  It  is  not  the  purpose  of  the  members  to  confine 
their  production  to  works  of  University  students  or  to 
limit  membership  to  those  connected  with  the  University. 


369869 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

Rather,  The  Morningside  Players  desire  to  coordinate  the 
dramatic  interests  of  the  University  with  the  commercial 
play-producing  field  and  by  so  doing  to  raise  the  standard 
of  plays  which  are  being  produced,  and  to  give  the  theater 
going  public  an  opportunity  to  see  the  best  plays  possible." 

The  policy  has  been  further  expanded  and  the  field 
widened,  so  that  anyone  who  is  willing  to  cooperate  as 
actor,  playwright,  or  manager,  may  offer  his  services.  The 
Players  have  realized  that  no  experimental  theater  move 
ment  can  hope  for  any  sort  of  success  unless  it  is  founded 
on  the  truest  sort  of  democracy:  they  seek  the  best,  wher 
ever  it  can  be  found. 

The  first  production  took  place  at  the  Comedy  Theater 
on  Sunday  night,  February  11,  and  was  followed  by  a 
repetition  of  the  bill  on  Tuesday  afternoon,  February  13. 
The  play  was  The  Iron  Cross ,  in  four  acts,  by  Elmer  L. 
Reizenstein,  author  of  On  Trial.  It  was  produced  under 
the  direction  of  the  author  and  Mr.  Will  Hutchins. 

The  next  bill  (produced  April  24th  and  25th)  composed 
of  the  four  plays  which  are  printed  in  the  present  volume, 
will  serve  to  show  something  of  the  varied  interests  and 
eclectic  ideals  of  the  Players  long  plays,  one-acters, 
tragedy  and  comedy,  fantastic,  romantic,  naturalistic — all 
will  find  a  place  on  their  programs. 

The  future  of  this  organization,  which  is  fortunate  in 
having  the  cooperation  of  Miss  Mary  Shaw  as  producer, 
will  of  course  depend  on  the  attitude  of  those  in  charge. 
If  they  adhere  to  their  program,  if  they  continue  to  wel 
come  new  work  that  is  sincere  and  interesting,  no  matter 
whence  it  comes,  they  cannot  but  fulfil  a  task  which  the 
commercial  theater  has  failed  to  accomplish ;  and  their 
work  will  be  at  an  end  when  the  commercial  manager 
comes  to  realize  that  with  intelligence  and  a  little  faith 
he  can  experiment  with  his  playwrights  and  his  public. 

BARRETT  H.  CLARK. 
6 


HATTIE 

A  Drama 

ELY  A  DE  PUE 


HATTIE 

Original  Cast  appearing 

in  the  first  production  at  the  Comedy  Theatre, 
Neiv  York,  April  22nd,  1911 

CHARACTERS 

HATTIE SOPHIE  WILDS 

M  INA CLARICE  MCCAULEY 

MRS.  SCROGGINS MILDRED  HAMBURGER 

TIM ROBERT  A.  PINES 

HEINRICH  .  ROGER  WHEELER 


Hattie 

Time:    The  Present. 

SCENE :  Room  in  a  New  York  tenement.  At  the  back 
of  the  stage  a  cot  in  left  corner,  and  next  it  a  mattress  made 
up  as  a  bed.  On  the  right  a  cupboard  and  a  table.  On  the 
left  an  old  bureau.  A  door  at  the  back  leads  into  the  next 
room;  a  door  at  the  right  into  the  hall.  Across  the  hall 
from  it  are  supposed  to  be  the  outside  door  to  the  street 
and  a  window.  A  woman  comes  in  hurriedly  from  the 
hall.  She  is  a  small,  bright  German,  whose  hair  at  first 
appears  to  be  gray,  but  turns  out  to  be  flaxen.  When 
excited,  she  has  an  accent.  She  goes  hastily  to  the  door 
in  the  back  of  the  stage. 

MINA:  (Calls)  Mrs.  Scroggins!  Oh,  Mrs.  Scroggins ! 
(A  tall  woman  opens  the  door  and  gestures  to  silence  Mina. 
She  has  a  long  neck  that  stretches  forward,  near-sighted 
eyes  with  which  she  is  always  examining  what  is  nearest, 
and  a  parrot  nose.  She  has  in  her  hand  a  brown  blanket.) 

MRS.  SCROGGINS:  Sh  .  .  .  !  He's  asleep.  You  don't 
want  him  hollering  all  evening,  do  you  ? 

MINA:  I'll  just  take  a  look  at  him.  (She  slips  past 
Mrs.  Scroggins  into  the  other  room.) 


THE     MORNINGSIDB     PLAYS 

MRS.  SCROGGINS:  (Tossing  the  blanket  on  the  mattress) 
Aw,  shucks !  He's  all  right  ...  if  you'd  let  him  alone. 
(Mina  reappears  smiling,  closing  door  carefully) 

MRS.  SCROGGINS  :  Well,  I  ain't  hurt  him,  have  I  ?  Where's 
Hattie?  I  want  to  talk  to  her  ...  I  thought  you  two 
worked  in  the  same  laundry. 

MINA:  She  stayed  behind  for  something  to-night.  She 
wouldn't  tell  me.  .  .  .  You  know  how  quiet  she  is.  I 
just  had  to  run  ahead  and  see  if  my  baby  was  all  rigiit. 
(She  takes  off  her  cape  and  battered  hat  and  hangs  them 
on  hooks  over  the  mattress.) 

MRS.  SCROGGINS:  (Huffily)  All  right!  I  ain't  going  to 
eat  him.  .  .  .  Here's  your  blanket.  But  now  let  me  tell 
you  something  ...  if  you  expect  to  stay  right  along  here 
as  a  steady  thing,  Hattie's  got  to  pay  me  more  for  this 
room.  You  said  when  you  come  you  was  going  to  stay  a 
few  days.  A  few  days !  It's  been  some  few !  Nearly 
three  weeks. 

MINA:  (Blinking  rapidly)  Ah,  Mrs.  Scroggins,  you 
ain't  goin'  to  put  up  tfhe  rent  on  her !  Every  day  I  think 
I  hear  dot  my  Heinrich  has  got  a  job.  Sure  I  thought  it 
was  goin'  to  be  a  few  days! 

MRS.  SCROGGINS:  You  Germans,  you  think  you  just  about 
own  the  country !  Here  I  been  takin'  care  of  your  squallin' 
kid  for  only  fifty  .  .  . 

MINA:  (Pleadingly)  I'll  pay  you  a  little  more  for  that 
.  .  .  lemme  see  .  .  .  only  I  don't  want  to  get  Hattie  into 
trouble.  Mrs.  Scroggins,  please  don't  say  nothin'  to  her 

10 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

.  .  .  she's  been  so  good  to  me.  I  wasn't  used  to  workin' 
right  along  at  one  job  .  .  .  them  irons  seemed  so  heavy 
to  me  .  .  .  You  see,  little  Heinie  ain't  only  six  months  old, 
and  I  give  out,  the  first  day  .  .  .  Hattie,  she  was  the  only 
one  was  sorry  for  me  ...  she  brought  me  here  to  stay 
so's  I  could  be  pretty  near  to  my  work. 

MRS.  SCROGGINS:  Yes,  you  and  her's  been  as  thick  as 
thieves  .  .  .  (Suddenly)  .  .  .  What'd  you  go  and  turn  her 
against  my  son  Tim,  for?  Hey?  That's  what  I'd  like  to 
know!  (The  door  opens  and  Hattie  comes  in.  She  is  a 
big,  raw-boned  girl,  seemingly  gruff.  She  has  had  few 
friends  and  seems  shy  and  suspicious.  She  looks  defiantly 
at  Mrs.  Scroggins.  She  is  carrying  three  packages,  which 
she  lays  down.  Mrs.  Scroggins  approaches  them,  peering 
curiously.) 

MRS.  SCROGGIXS:  (In  a  conciliatory  tone)  Well,  here 
you  are!  Been  shoppin'? 

HATTIE:    (Shortly)    Where's  the  baby? 

MINA:  Oh,  he's  in  there  sleepin'  just  fine  ...  I  thought 
I  wouldn't  wake  him  up.  (Hattie  goes  into  the  next  room. 
Mina  has  throzvn  herself  on  the  cot  in  an  attitude  of  ex 
haustion.  Mrs.  Scroggins  wanders  about  aimlessly,  Hattie 
comes  back.  She  notices  Mrs.  Scroggins  eyeing  the  pack 
ages  and  removes  her  things  deliberately.  Finally  she  un 
does  one  bundle,  a  loaf  of  bread.  She  starts  to  put  it  in 
the  cupboard,  then  puts  it  out  on  the  table  instead.  With 
it  she  sets  out  some  sausage.) 

MRS.  SCROGGINS:  (No  longer  able  to  contain  herself, 
pokes  the  large  bundle)  What  you  got  here,  Hattie? 

11 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 
HATTIE:    (Sheepishly)    Nothin'. 

MRS.  SCROGGINS:  (With  withering  sarcasm)  Seems  to 
take  a  terrible  lot  o'  good  paper  to  do  up  nothin'  in !  (Hattie 
looks  at  her  sullenly.  There  is  nothing  left  to  do  but  to 
open  the  package.  It  is  a  baby's  tin  bath  tub.  Mina  gives 
an  exclamation  of  pleasure.  While  Mrs.  Scroggins  is  ex 
amining  the  tub,  bottom  side  up,  Hattie  slips  the  third 
package  in  the  bureau  drawer.) 

MRS.  SCROGGIN  :  For  the  land's  sakes !  The  way  you 
do  for  that  child  .  .  .  you'd  think  he  was  your  first  born, 
'stead  of  another  girl's  .  .  . 

MINA:  (Sitting  up,  much  enlivened  by  the  good  fortune 
of  acquiring  a  tub.)  Ach,  I  must  go  to  phone  to  the  gros- 
mutter  .  .  . 

MRS.  SCROGGINS:    To  who? 

MINA:  She's  .  .  .  Why,  my  husband's  mutter  .  .  . 
She's  been  takin'  care  of  my  other  children  ever  since  .  .  . 

MRS.  SCROGGINS:    Your  other  children? 

MINA:  (Proudly)  Sure!  I  got  two  nice  girls  .  .  . 
one  can't  see  so  very  good,  but  she's  getting  better  .  .  . 
and  one  more  boy  .  .  .  Say,  Hattie,  you  got  two  nickels 
for  this  dime?  (Hattie  gets  them  from  her  coat  pocket) 

MRS.  SCROGGINS:  For  the  love  o'  Gawd!  And  you  so 
little  and  sick  like  .  .  . 

MINA:  Oh,  I  ain't  really  sick!  (She  puts  on  her  dingy 
cape  but  no  hat  and  goes  out) 

12 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

MRS.  SCROGGIXS:  (Spitefully)  You  see  here,  Hattie  .  .  . 
You're  throwin'  money  around  on  other  people's  brats, 
when  you  ought  to  be  havin'  some  of  your  own.  (Hattie, 
putting  coffee  on  the  stove  to  heat,  turns  suddenly  and 
stares  at  the  other  woman)  And  you  can  up  and  pay  me 
a  dollar  more  for  this  here  room ;  understand  ?  You  make 
good  wages  ...  I  heard  tell  you  was  one  of  the  best 
v/orkers  they  got,  doin'  that  fancy  ironin'.  (She  pauses 
for  breath.  Hattie  looks  at  her  steadily  without  answer 
ing.  Annoyed  at  not  feeling  justified  in  her  demands,  Mrs. 
Scroggins  tries  to  work  herself  up  into  a  fit  of  indignation) 
What  on  earth  did  you  get  yourself  all  mixed  up  with  her 
for,  anyhow? 

HATTIE:    (Muttering)    The  work  was  too  hard  for  her. 

MRS.  SCROGGINS:  Well,  you  fool,  you  can't  afford  to  start 
a  hospital  for  all  the  laundry  girls  that  ain't  feelin'  like 
workin',  can  youB  (Hattie  makes  no  reply,  which  irritates 
Mrs.  Scroggins,  who  cannot  understand  anyone  not  liking 
to  talk)  What  on  earth's  the  matter  with  you  lately,  any 
how?  You  go  around  with  your  jaw  hangin'  .  .  .  like 
this  .  .  .  (Makes  a  face  denoting  dejection)  Why  can'f 
she  help  you  pay  for  the  room  .  .  .  She  makes  good  money 
at  that  laundry,  too,  I  bet. 

HATTIE:    (Drily)    Good  money! 

MRS.  SCROGGINS:  (Stamping  her  foot)  You  drive  me 
crazy  just  repeating  what  I  says!  Why  don't  she  pony  up, 
I'm  askin'? 

HATTIE:  (In  a  low  tone)  Sends  it  to  the  other  kids. 
Husband's  lost  his  job. 

13 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

MRS.  SCROGGINS:  Oh,  yes.  That's  what  she's  tellin'  you, 
I  know.  I  guess,  maybe,  there  ain't  no  more  husband 
than  there  is  a  job!  Ha!  Ha! 

HATTiE:  (Hotly)  There  is  too!  (As  they  talk  Hattie 
unconsciously  draws  near  the  door,  for  there  is  a  noise  of 
thumping  outside,  going  along  the  hall.  Hattie,  drawn  up 
tensely,  keeps  looking  toward  the  door.  The  thumping 
passes  without  stopping.  Her  shoulders  droop  forward  de 
jectedly) 

MRS.  SCROGGINS:    You  seen  him  yourself? 
HATTIE::    (With  a  start)    Seen  him?     Seen  who? 

MRS.  SCROGGINS  :  ( With  exasperation)  There  you  go 
again!  Why  don't  you  listen  to  what  I'm  sayin'?  Seen 
her  husband,  of  course. 

HATTIE:  (Sullenly)  Naw !  When  he  come,  I  was  out 
with  Tim. 

MRS.  SCROGGINS  i  Now  you  take  my  word  for  it,  I've 
seen  the  world  ...  I  know  these  here  soft  spoken  little 
chits  .  .  . 

VOICE  OUTSIDE  :   Say,  Maw ! 

HATTIE:  (Jumping)  That's  Tim,  ain't  it?  Why  don't 
he  ...  s-stop  in  here  anymore? 

MRS.  SCROGGINS  :   I  guess  you  know  that  as  well  as  me. 
HATTIE  :    What  do  you  mean  ? 

MRS.  SCROGGINS:    You  know  all  right  ...  I  can  tell  by 

14 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

the  look  on  your  face.  \Yhat  d'ye  tell  him  you  wasn't 
goin'  with  him  no  more  unless  he  quit  sellin'  papers?  D'ye 
think  a  sperrited  feller  like  Tim  is  goin'  to  stand  for  that 
kind  o'  talk?  He  was  doin'  all  right  at  it,  too.  You  kep' 
at  him  till  he  nearly  went  an'  tuk  a  job  as  bartend  in 
O'Shaunessy's  saloon  down  here  at  the  corner  .  .  .  (With 
a  sneer)  .  .  .  You're  so  high  and  mighty  .  .  .  too  good 
for  him,  eh? 

HATTIE:  (Tensely,  with  clenched  fists}  No,  no.  That 
wasn't  it  at  all.  I  wanted  him  to  get  a  better  job,  some 
thing  that  would  get  him  on  ...  so  as  ...  so  as  ... 
I  didn't  want  him  to  be  a  bartend,  though. 

MRS.  SCROGGIXS  :  Yes,  so  as  to  have  money  to  throw 
around  on  you. 

HATTIE:  No,  no  .  .  .  so  as  we  could  .  .  .  get  married 
.  .  .  sometime. 

MRS.  SCROGGIXS  :  He  works  hard  enough.  He  was  wil 
ling  to  marry  you  on  what  he's  getting. 

HATTIE  :  That's  not  enough !  You  know  that's  not 
enough !  \Yliy  look  at  Mina  .  .  .  she  says  .  .  . 

MRS.  SCROGGIXS:  (Furiously)  That  Mina!  I  knowed  it 
was  her  turned  you  against  him! 

HATTIE:  (Slowly)  I  saw  .  .  .  from  her  .  .  .  you  got 
to  be  careful. 

MRS.  SCROGGIXS:  Careful?  Tim  would  make  any  girl  a 
good  husband !  There's  plenty  as  thinks  so  too. 

HATTIE:    (On  the  verge  of  breaking  down)    I  didn't  go 

15 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

to  make  him  mad.  I  just  spoke  of  the  delicatessen  shop 
.  .  .  they  need  a  clerk  there.  Tim's  so  smart  ...  he 
could  ...  he  could  ...  I  hate  to  have  him  have  to 
borrow  money  off  of  me. 

MRS.  SCROGGINS:  (Hotly)  See  here!  Don't  you  come 
a-complainin'  of  Tim  to  me !  I've  always  humored  him 
with  his  lameness  and  all  ...  I  ain't  goin'  to  have  no 
abusin'  of  him.  You're  too  old  for  him  anyways  .  .  . 
He's  got  another  girl  now. 

HATTIE;:    (With  effort)    Who  do  you  mean? 
MRS.  SCROGGINS:    That  Sadie  Horst  .    .    . 

HATTIE;:  (Shrilly)  That  .  .  .  that  little  ...  she  ... 
she  makes  eyes  at  every  feller  .  .  . 

MRS.  SCROGGINS  :  Shut  up  your  insults.  She  ain't  makin' 
eyes  at  Tim.  .  .  .  She  means  business. 

VOICE:  (From  back)  Say,  Maw,  what  about  supper? 
Do  I  get  it  or  don't  I  ? 

MRS.  SCROGGINS:  (Annoyed)  I'm  comin',  if  you'll  wait  a 
second.  (She  goes  out,  reopens  the  door  and  sets  a  clothes 
basket  on  the  mattress  ivith  a  bump.  Hattie  stares  at  the 
door  a  moment,  then  runs  to  the  basket,  takes  out  the  baby, 
holds  him  close,  hiding  her  face.  Through  the  window 
comes  the  glow  of  a  street  lamp.  Pause.  Mina  opens  the 
door  and  enters) 

MINA:  Hattie!  Ach,  there  you  are!  Why  don't  you 
light  the  gas?  (Mina  finds  a  match,  lights  the  gas  in  center 

16 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

of  the  room.     She  hangs  up  her  cape  and  holds  out  her 
arms  for  the  baby} 

HATTIE:  (In  a  husky  voice}  Say,  Mina,  can't  I  ... 
fix  him  and  give  him  a  bath  to-night?  It  kind  o'  takes  my 
mind  off  of  .  .  . 

MINA:  (Solicitously}  Why,  Hattie,  what's  been  happen 
ing?  Mrs.  Scroggins  .  .  .  did  she  .  .  .  did  she  stay  long 
after  I  went  out?  (Indignantly)  Did  she  sass  you  about 
the  rent  or  anything? 

HATTIE:    (Bends  over  the  baby  but  does  not  answer} 

MINA:  (Putting  an  arm  over  Hattie' s  shoulder}  That 
Tim  .  .  .  Has  he  been  bothering  you  again? 

HATTIE:  (Throwing  off  Mina's  arm;  in  a  tearful  voice} 
Botherin'  ?  Not  likely  he'll  bother  me  no  more !  He's  got 
another  girl. 

MINA:  Another  girl!  How  do  you  know?  Did  he  tell 
you? 

HATTIE:  No,  Mrs.  Scroggins  did.  (Suddenly}  You 
never  did  like  Tim !  I  wish  I'd  never  listened  to  you. 

MINA:  Mrs.  Scroggins!  Ach,  she  just  tries  to  make 
you  jealous!  Don't  you  pay  no  attention  to  that. 

HATTIE:  (Wistfully,  wanting  to  be  convinced}  Do  you 
think  that's  it? 

MINA:  (Heartily}  Sure!  Don't  you  see?  She  wants 
that  Tim  to  get  you.  She  wants  him  to  have  an  easy  time 
...  to  live  off  of  you  instead  of  off  of  her.  She  was  as 

17 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

sweet  as  honey  cakes  to  you  till  you  had  that  fight  with 
him  .   .   .  now  she's  a  little  grouchy. 

HATTIE:  (Her  spirits  rising  somewhat}  We'd  ought  to 
be  a-givin'  him  his  bath.  (Mina  gets  the  tub  and  fills  it  in 
the  hall.  She  kneels  on  the  other  side  of  it  from  Hattie) 

MINA  :  Tim,  he  ytist  waitin'  for  you  to  make  up  with  him. 

HATTIE:  (Undressing  the  baby)  Don't  you  be  too  sure. 
Fellers  here  ain't  so  faithful  as  they  are  .  .  .  some  places. 

MINA  :  Well,  if  you  want  to  make  up  with  him,  you  stick 
to  what  I  told  you  .  .  .  You  tell  him  you  won't  marry  him 
without  enough  to  bring  up  a  family  on.  .  .  .  You  better 
give  him  to  me,  your  hand  is  shaky.  (Hattie  hands  her 
the  child,  cooing  to  him)  .  .  .  Look,  he's  getting  fat  ... 
just  since  I  come  here  to  you. 

HATTIE:  (In  a  dull  voice)  Aw,  you  needn't  worry  about 
me  and  Tim.  We  ain't  goin'  to  make  up. 

MINA:  (To  the  baby)  Ach,  you  was  a  little  kicker!  Yust 
see  him  kick  .  .  .  Hattie,  you're  awful  touchy.  I  noticed 
it  with  the  girls  at  the  laundry.  You  seemed  like  you  was 
scared  of  Tim. 

HATTIE:  (Shamefacedly)  Always  think  people  ain't 
goin'  to  like  me  ...  I  feel  so  kind  o'  awkward  and  ugly. 
(She  gets  a  towel  for  Mina) 

MINA:  Ach,  no,  you  ain't  so  bad.  (She  blinks  at  her 
friend  in  embarrassment) 

HATTIE  :  Now  you,  you're  friendly  to  all  of  'em,  and  you 
make  me  feel  right  to  home  with  you. 

18 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

MINA  :  Anyway,  you  got  the  best  heart  of  'em  all.  When 
I  was  so  sick,  it  was  you  who  took  me  home.  The  others 
said  they  was  sorry,  but  they  shied  off,  I  noticed  .  .  . 
(Wiping  the  child}  .  .  .  He  was  pretty  weak  when  he 
was  born,  but  I  think  he's  gaining  all  right  now. 

HATTIE:  (Hesitatingly)  The  other  ones,  are  they 
strong? 

MINA:  (After  a  moment)  The  two  oldest,  they  are.  I 
had  a  little  girl  that  died,  and  then  little  Elsa,  I  had  an 
awful  time  with  her  .  .  .  poor  little  thing  ...  I  used  to 
wish  I  could  feel  the  pains  for  her. 

HATTIE:  (With  her  face  buried,  shuddering)  Yes,  it 
don't  seem  fair  for  them  to  start  out  without  a  chance  .  .  . 
ain't  it  funny?  Those  that  have  'em  don't  want  'em,  al 
ways  .  .  .  and  there's  other  people,  that  hasn't  anybody 
of  their  own  .  .  . 

MINA  (Reflectively)  It's  mighty  different  here  from  on 
a  farm  in  the  old  country.  Here  you  haf  to  like  a  feller 
pretty  much  before  you  want  to  take  a  chance  on  all  the 
trouble  .  .  .  (In  a  more  cheerful  voice)  .  .  .  Now  my 
Heinrich,  he's  so  different  to  most  of  the  Americans.  I 
don't  mind  the  trouble  ...  if  we  ...  if  we  could  only 
stay  together.  (She  puts  the  baby  in  the  basket  and  takes 
the  tub  away  to  empty  it) 

HATTIE:    Do  you  think  he  will  find  something  soon? 

MINA:  Oh,  yes,  I  know  he  will.  He  tries  so  hard  .  .  . 
I  yust  know  how  crazy  he  is  for  to  get  us  all  together  again. 
(Her  face  lights  up  and  she  looks  much  younger} 

19 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

HATTIE:  (Wistfully)  It  must  be  fine  to  be  so  sure  of 
anybody.  You  don't  mind  the  hard  work,  if  you  think  its 
getting  you  anywheres.  (Suddenly)  Now  what  am  / 
workin'  for,  I'd  like  to  know?  What  am  I  livin'  for? 

MINA:  (Alarmed  by  Hattie  s  unusual  violence)  Ach, 
Hattie,  you'll  get  somebody  of  your  own  .  .  .  You'll  feel 
better  to-morrow,  maybe. 

HATTIE:  Somebody!  You  can't  understand  why  I  like 
Tim  .  .  .  His  shiftlessness  just  makes  me  like  him  all  the 
more.  I  kind  o'  want  to  look  out  for  him.  It  ain't  his  fault 
his  mother  spoiled  him.  And  the  way  he  grins,  kind  of  to 
one  side,  and  his  blue  eyes  shinin',  and  all  ...  I  guess 
I'm  a  fool.  (She  breaks  down,  sobbing  hard) 

MINA:  (Patting  her  on  the  shoulder)  Say,  he'll  be 
comin'  out  from  his  supper  pretty  soon.  (She  goes  to  the 
bureau  and  pokes  about  in  the  drawer.  She  holds  up  a 
little  white  dress,  which  she  has  taken  out  of  the  paper  in 
which  it  was  wrapped.  To  divert  Hattie's  mind.)  Did 
you  do  this,  Hattie?  When  did  you  iron  it?  (Hattie  nods, 
wiping  her  eyes.)  When  did  you?  It's  just  swell! 

HATTIE:  (With  an  occasional  sob)  After  you  left  to 
day.  The  boss  let  me  use  the  fluter. 

MINA  :  It's  lovely.  I  put  it  on  him  the  first  time  my 
Heinrich  is  to  see  him.  (She  hunts  further  in  the  drawer 
and  finally  brings  out  a  piece  of  bright  green  ribbon,  which 
she  takes  to  Hattie) 

MINA:  I  don't  wear  this  now,  try  it  on.  (Hattie  shakes 
her  head.  A  thumping  is  heard  in  the  hall.  Hattie  sud- 

20 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

denly  rouses  herself,  gets  up  and  takes  the  ribbon.  She  ties 
it  nervously  around  her  neck,  glancing  noiv  and  then  fur 
tively  in  the  little  cracked  mirror  over  the  bureau.  She 
wipes  her  eyes.  The  thumping  goes  into  the  hall.  Mina 
opens  the  door,  and  motions  Hattic  towards  it.  Hattie, 
trembling,  does  not  move,  but  shrinks  back.  Mina  pulls 
her  with  all  her  might.  They  almost  struggle.  Hattie 
finally  stands  in  the  door,  pressed  against  the  casing.  She 
breathes  hard  with  a  rigid  face.  Mina  slips  back  and 
busies  herself  about  the  food) 

HATTIE;:    (Faintly)    Hello,  Tim! 

VOICE:  (Outside,  carelessly)  Hello,  Hat !  (He  does  not 
stop) 

HATTIE:  (With  visible  effort  as  he  is  passing)  Say,  Tim, 
can't  you  come  in  ...  just  a  minute?  (Tim  limps  into 
the  room,  standing  just  inside  the  door.  He  is  slightly 
shorter  than  Hattie,  with  reddish  hair,  blue  eyes  and  a  thin 
face,  with  a  sarcastic  smile  which  has  an  indefinable  charm 
for  girls,  in  spite  of  his  infirmity.  A  short  pause  ensues, 
agonizing  for  Hattie,  boring  to  Tim  and  unnoticed  by  Mina 
who  is  scanning  Tim  carefully) 

HATTIE:  (Choking  a  little)  Make  you  acquainted  with 
my  friend,  Mrs.  Kleber.  (Tim  murmurs  an  inarticulate 
salutation,  looking  at  the  door) 

MINA:    Can't  you  set  down,  Mr.   Scroggins? 

TIM  :  Naw,  I  can't  .  .  .  Got  to  see  somebody  .  .  .  out 
side.  (He  turns) 

HATTIE:    (With  a  gasp)    Right  .    .    .  right  away? 

21 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

MINA:  (Seeing  how  disturbed  Rattle  is)  Ach,  stay 
awhile  and  eat  somethin'  ...  or  have  a  cup  of  coffee. 

TIM:  (Looking  uncomfortably  toward  the  door)  Naw, 
I  can't  sure  .  .  .  I  just  eat.  I  got  a  date  .  .  .  (with  a 
faint  smile) 

HATTIE:  (Throwing  her  pride  to  the  winds)  You  don't 
ever  .  .  .  make  dates  with  .  .  .  with  me,  no  more,  Tim. 

TIM:   Whose  fault's  that? 


Oh,  Tim  !  I  never  meant  to  throw  you  down. 
I  only  wanted  you  to  get  another  job  .  .  for  your  own 
good  .  .  . 

TIM  :  Yes,  for  my  own  good.  Say,  I  can  picture  myself 
in  the  delicatessen  joint  there  among  the  pickles  and  cheeses 
and  sauerkraut!  Nobody  ever  goes  in  there  but  fat  old 
Dutch  women.  I'm  off  the  Germans,  I  tell  you.  (Hattie 
looks  ready  to  faint.)  'Stead  of  being  outside  with  the 
fellers  that  sells  for  me,  goin'  where  I  please,  seein'  all  that 
goes  on,  talkin'  to  all  kinds  of  folks  .  .  .  that's  my  job, 
and  it's  as  good  or  better  than  any  .  .  .  it's  good  enough 
for  me. 

MINA  :   But  you  don't  get  ahead. 

TIM  :  (Resenting  Mina's  interference  and  her  knowledge 
of  his  having  been  repulsed)  Well,  there's  others  as  ain't 
so  fussy  about  my  gettin'  ahead. 

HATTIE:  (Taking  a  sharp  breath  and  moving  toward 
him.)  Tim,  forget  what  I  said.  I  don't  care  what  you 
do  .  .  .  I  .  .  .  (  Tim,  showing  off  before  the  other  woman 

22 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

holds   up   his   hand   humorously   to   ward   off  Hattie.     He 
smiles  crookedly,  not  unkindly) 

TIM  :  It's  pretty  late  to  come  honeyin'  round  me  now. 
How  d'ye  know  I  ain't  goin'  to  get  married  .  .  .  maybe 
this  afternoon?  There's  somebody  outside. 

HATTIE  :    Tim  .    .    .  you're  not  .    .    . 

TIM  :  (Loftily)  Well,  maybe  I'll  put  it  off  a  day  or  two 
.  .  .  but  I'm  goin'  to  get  hitched,  all  right  ...  So  long. 
(He  limps  out  with  unusual  speed.  Hattie  waits  a  mo 
ment,  then  runs  after  him.  She  calls  him  once  but  it  is 
muffled  in  the  bang  of  the  door.  She  looks  out  the  window 
in  the  hall  and  Mina  hears  her  give  a  sharp  ejaculation. 
Then  she  reenters  the  room,  staggering  a  little,  and  tears 
the  ribbon  from  her  neck,  dropping  it  and  treading  on  it. 
She  throws  herself  face  downward  on  the  mattress.  For 
a  moment  Mina  watches  her  with  clasped  hands  and  an 
agonized  expression,  not  daring  to  speak) 

MIX  A:    Hattie   .    .    . 

HATTIE:  (Frantically)  What  did  you  make  me  see  him 
for?  What  did  you  push  me  for?  I'm  so  ashamed  .  .  . 
Oh,  I'm  so  ashamed. 

MINA:  (In  a  small  voice}  I  ...  I  knew  you  wanted 
tc  talk  to  him  .  .  .  Did  you  see  who  was  outside?  (She 
biinks  apprehensively  at  Hattie} 

HATTIE:  (Smothering  her  sobs  in  the  bed)  That  Sadie 
.  .  .  that  girl  with  the  black  eyes  .  .  .  Oh,  oh !  I  always 
knew  he  would  like  somebody  else. 

23 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

MINA:  (Trying  to  soothe  her)  Never  mind,  Hattie,  he 
wasn't  good  enough  for  you  anyway ! 

HATTIE:  (Bursting  forth  vehemently)  Not  good  enough! 
Not  good  enough!  (With  a  laugh  like  a  scream)  .  .  . 
Who's  good  enough  then?  Who's  good  enough?  Who's 
ever  goin'  to  look  at  me?  He's  the  only  feller  I  ever  had. 
It's  better  to  have  one  like  him  than  nobody  at  all.  .  .  . 

MINA:    Ach,  poor  Hattie,  I'm  so  sorry  .    .    . 

HATTIE:  You,  .  .  .  you  spoiled  my  last  chance.  You 
told  me  not  to  marry  him  ...  I  was  a  coward  ...  I  was 
afraid  ...  I  can  just  see  that  Sadie's  black  eyes  .  .  . 

MINA:  (Feeling  that  she  has  brought  disaster,  and  sob 
bing  more  than  Hattie)  Ach,  Hattie,  an'  you  bin  so  good 
to  me,  too  .  .  .  (She  creeps  up  to  Hattie  and  takes  her 
hand.  Seeing  that  Hattie  does  not  resent  it,  she  puts  her 
arm  about  her  and  they  cry  together.) 

MINA:  (Sitting  up  trying  to  divert  Hattie)  Say,  we 
ain't  ate  our  supper  .  .  .  (Hattie  makes  no  answer)  (She 
takes  the  coffee  from  the  stove  and  pours  out  a  cupful) 
Come  on,  Hattie,  you  better  have  a  bite  .  .  .  (Hattie  shakes 
her  head)  ...  A  cup  of  this  kaffee  will  do  you  good. 

HATTIE:  (Drags  herself  up  and  leans  over  the  basket) 
He  ain't  had  his  ...  (sobs)  .  .  .  milk.  (Mina  gets  the 
baby's  bottle,  but  Hattie  takes  it  from  her.  She  pours 
milk  into  a  saucepan  to  heat.  She  goes  into  the  hall  to 
rinse  the  bottle  then  tries  to  fill  it  from  the  pan)  (Turning 
suddenly  to  Mina)  How  old  are  you? 

MINA:    (Surprised)    I   ...  guess  I'm  twenty-six. 

24 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

HATTIE:  (Tonelcssly)  You  got  four  children,  ain't  you? 
.  .  .  (She  lets  the  milk  drip  on  the  floor)  And  I'm  thirty- 
seven  .  .  .  thirty-seven  years  old,  and  .  .  . 

MINA:  (Changing  the  subject)  Look  out  Hattie,  all  the 
milk  is  spilling'.  Leave  a  little  in  the  pan,  we  can  feed  him 
again  in  the  night  .  .  .  the  way  you  did  last  night.  Ach, 
Gott!  How  tired  I  was  last  night.  Anyway  Hattie,  you 
got  your  strength ! 

HATTIE:    (Bitterly)    What  good's  that? 

MIXA:  Last  night  when  you  was  so  good  to  get  up  and 
feed  him,  I  thought  for  a  minute  I  had  my  good  Heinrich 
back.  You  bin  so  awful  good,  I'd  like  to  help  you  some 
time  ...  I'd  like  to  do  something  nice  for  you.  (Hattie 
gives  the  baby  his  bottle  and  stands  watching  him.  Mina 
is  putting  away  the  food) 

HATTIE:  Lemme  take  care  of  him  then.  (There  is  a 
knock  at  the  door.  Hattie  starts  violently,  runs  toward  it, 
then  stops  to  get  her  breath.) 

HATTIE:  (In  a  loud  whisper)  Did  you  hear  anybody 
.  .  .  come  up  ...  did  you  Mina?  We  was  talkin'  and 
maybe  didn't  hear  .  .  . 

MINA:  (Also  agitated)  Open  the  door  quick.  (The 
knock  is  repeated  and  Hattie  opens  the  door,  so  that  Mina 
does  not  at  first  see  who  it  is.  From  Hattie's  attitude  Mina 
knows  it  is  not  Tim) 

VOICE:  (Outside)  Say,  my  wife  Mina  .  .  .  she  bin  here? 
(  Mina  runs  to  the  door  and  pulls  in  a  big  man  with  clean 

25 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

skin  and  a  shock  of  blond  hair,  his  clothes  those  of  a  work 
man.  Hattie  draws  back.  The  couple  stand  looking  joy 
fully  into  each  other's  eyes,  then  Mina  with  a  little  cry 
throws  her  arms  about  his  neck.  Hattie  turns  away,  bends 
over  the  basket,  and  seeing  they  do  not  notice  her,  picks  up 
the  baby.  The  two  whisper  and  Heinrich's  vo'we  rises  as 
he  says  something  in  German.  He  kisses  his  wife  below 
the  ear,  and  Mina  smiles) 

MINA:  (Remembering  they  are  not  alone)  Say  Hattie, 
what  do  you  think?  He's  bin  and  got  a  job  in  Brooklyn, 
driving  a  wagon  for  a  big  grocer.  He's  took  a  room  al 
ready  in  Brooklyn,  and  he's  got  the  wagon  downstairs, 
right  now  to  take  us  over  in.  He  wanted  to  surprise  me. 

HEINRICH:  Where's  the  little  one?  Ach,  so,  here  he  is. 
(He  takes  the  baby  from  Hattie  clumsily) 

MINA:    (Delightedly)    Ain't  he  got  fat,  Heinrich? 

HKINRICH  :  (Beaming  and  laying  the  baby  in  the  basket) 
Oh,  Mina,  I  brought  some  boxes  that  you  can  put  your 
things  in.  You  don't  have  to  carry  them  in  the  shawl.  I 
better  go  get  them  while  you  get  ready.  (He  goes  out) 

MINA:  (Excitedly)  He  thinks  of  every  single  thing. 
Ain't  he  a  fine  man?  And  so  good.  He  says  he  got  a  job 
where  they  let  him  drive  horses.  (She  spreads  her  shawl 
and  piles  a  few  things  in)  You  see  he  lost  his  job  before 
'cause  they  changed  the  horses  to  having  autos  ...  he 
likes  so  much  better  to  drive  horses  ....  he  likes  them. 
(She  sees  Hattie  is  not  listening) 

26 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

HATTIE  :    (In  a  high  unnatural  voice)    You  goin'  to  take 
.    .    .  the  baby  .    .    .  away? 

MINA:   What  you  say? 

HATTIE:    You  goin'  to  take     .     .     .    (Pointing    to    the 
basket) 

MINA:    (In  amazement)    Take  my  little  Heinie?     Why, 
what  you  think  I  do? 

HATTIE  :    Couldn't  you  leave  him   .    .    .   just  a  few  days 
.    .    .  till  I  got  used  to  bein'  alone? 

MINA:    Leave  him  here?     How  could  I  leave  him  here? 


:    (Desperately)  You  said  .    .    .   maybe  you'd  do 
something  for  me  ...   I'll  be  all  alone,  and  .    .    . 

MIXA:  (After  a  pause,  much  concerned)  Yes,  that's 
right  ...  I  been  so  happy,  I  forgot  all  about  that. 

HATTIE  :   You  got  all  the  others,  and  your  husband  .    .    . 

MINA:  (Very  doubtfully)  But  I'm  afraid  .  .  .  supposin* 
he  gets  sick,  or  ... 

HATTIE:  I'll  let  you  know  right  away.  I  know  how  to 
tike  good  care  of  him.  Oh,  please,  Mina. 

MINA:  (Uncertainly,  not  knowing  how  to  refuse)  Well, 
I'd  like  to  do  it  for  you,  sure  I  would  Hattie,  but  I  got 
lc  see  what  Heinrich  says. 

HATTIE  :  He  won't  let  me  .  .  you  beg  him  .  .  .  can't 
you  make  him?  (She  holds  Minas  arm  in  a  frantic  grip. 

27 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

Heinrich  enters  with  tzvo  large  boxes.     Hattie  drops  Mina's 
arm) 

HEINRICH  :  Whew !  I  run  up  all  them  steps.  Here's 
your  trunks,  Mina.  (Mina  piles  her  belongings  into  the 
box,  glances  at  her  husband,  but  says  nothing.  She  looks 
around  the  room  to  see  if  she  has  left  anything.  Hattie 
hands  her  a  saucepan.  Heinrich  looks  around,  too,  finds 
an  empty  baby's  bottle  and  puts  that  in.  Hattie  stares  at 
it,  looking  from  it  to  Mina.  Mina  sees  the  tin  bath  tub, 
which  she  does  not  take) 

HEINRICH  :  (Pleasantly  unconscious  of  anything)  Well, 
you  don't  need  so  many  trunks,  eh? 

MINA:  (Slowly)  Heinrich,  Hattie,  she  been  awful  good 
to  me. 

HEINRICH  :  Much  obliged  to  you  Miss,  I'm  sure.  It  was 
fine  for  you  and  Mina  to  be  company  for  one  another.  I'd 
like  to  pay  you  for  half  your  room.  How  much  do  you 
give  for  it?  (Hattie  shakes  her  head  and  mumbles)  Yes, 
yes,  go  ahead,  I  can  afford  to  pay  you.  (He  sets  the 
empty  box  on  end  by  the  door.  Hattie  looks  at  him  ap- 
pealingly) 

MINA:  (Not  knowing  how  to  begin)  Heinrich,  she  don't 
want  the  money,  but  .  .  . 

HEINRICH  :  Well,  if  she  won't  have  it  ...  much  obliged, 
Miss,  I'm  sure  .  .  .  Come  on,  Mina  you  bring  Heinie,  and 
I'll  take  this.  (He  starts  to  take  up  the  full  box) 

MINA:  (Trying  to  gain  time)  Maybe  can't  we  stay  here 
a  little  while  longer? 

28 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

HEINRICH  :  (Straightening  tip)  Stay  here?  It's  getting 
late  and  we  got  a  long  way  to  go. 

MINA:  Well,  you  see,  Hattie,  she's  goin'  to  be  awful  lone 
some.  Maybe  we  could  leave  .  .  .  little  Heinie  .  .  .  with 
her. 

HEINRICH  :  That's  a  good  joke  .  .  .  leave  little  Heinie, 
eh?  His  father  ain't  seen  him  for  some  time. 

MINA:  No,  but  really,  Hattie,  she  would  like  to  keep 
him  .  .  .  just  a  little  while  she  can  feed  him  fine  now. 

HEINRICH:  You  giving  away  your  baby?  You're  crazy, 
Mina? 

MINA:    Hattie,  she  goin'  to  be  awful  lonesome. 

HEINRICH:  What's  the  matter  with  you  Mina?  You 
ain't  never  complained  about  takin'  care  of  the  children 
before.  How  can  she  look  out  for  him  like  his  mother? 
(More  sternl\)  You  and  she  been  havin'  too  easy  a  time, 
yes? 

MINA:    (Reproachfully)    Ach,  Heinrich. 
HEINRICH  :    Now  come  on,  no  more  nonsense ! 

MINA:  (More  and  more  faintly)  But  I  promised  her  I 
would  do  something  for  ... 

HEINRICH:  (Used  to  being  obeyed  and  getting  angry) 
Sure  you  can  do  something  for  her,  but  not  give  her  your 
child,  Gott  in  Himmel ! 

MINA:    (Breathing  fast)    Not  for  one  night? 

29 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

HEINRICH  :  Why  don't  she  get  an  orphan/  if  she  don't 
want  a  family  of  her  own?  (Mina  tries  to  stop  him,  but 
he  raises  his  voice)  There's  too  many  unmarried  women 
in  this  country.  All  they  want  is  an  easy  time  ...  no 
responsibility.  (H attic  has  draivn  further  back  in  the 
room.  Heinrich  takes  the  child  summarily,  and  the  bo.v 
under  the  other  arm  and  stalks  out  of  the  room.  Mina, 
with  alarm  goes  toward  Hattie,  who  stares  at  her  fixedly. 
Mina  murmurs  "Good  bye,  Hattie,  Good  bye,  I  ...  I'll 
come  and  see  you."  Hattie  docs  not  answer  and  Mina 
slips  out.  The  baby  cries,  Hattie  listens  and  takes  a  few 
steps  toward  the  door.  She  turns  and  looks  about  the 
room,  sees  the  green  ribbon  on  the  floor,  picks  it  up  and 
starts  across  the  room,  stumbles  over  the  bath  tub,  picks  it 
up,  stands  holding  it  for  a  moment,  and  then  lets  it  fall 
with  a  clatter  and  throws  herself  across  the  mattress) 

CURTAIN 


30 


ONE  A  DAY 

A  Fantasy 

CAROLINE  BRIGG^ 


ONE  A  DAY 

Original  Cast  appearing  in  the  first  production  at  the 
Comedy  Theatre,  New  York,  April  22,  1917 

CHARACTERS 

G.  BERNARD  S.  FLANAGAN .ROGER  WHEELER 

GERMAN  PRISONER i S.  S.  McDANiEL 

PRINCE  OF  WALES ORMOND  V.  GOULD 

'ENRY  'ARRIS JOHN  MC!NERNEY 

JERRY  DUNN (EDWARD  J.  SCHOENBROD 


One  A  Day 

PLACE:   A  trench  somewhere  in  France. 

(The  curtain  goes  up  disclosing  a  very  dark  stage. 
Gradually  there  becomes  risible  at  the  back  the  sand  bags 
and  general  outlines  of  the  ramparts  of  a  trench.  To  the 
right  of  the  stage  toward  the  front  is  a  covered  shelter, 
betzvecn  it  and  the  rampart  at  the  back  is  the  opening  of 
another  trench.  To  the  left  continuation  of  gallery,  also 
steps  up  to  the  top  of  the  trench  wall. 

It  is  night  and  the  stars  arc  the  only  apparent  means  of 
light.  Two  figures  are  seen  under  the  shelter,  one  sitting 
in  a  constrained  attitude  leaning  against  the  wall  at  right, 
the  other  stretched  out  at  ease  on  his  back,  and  if  the  sounds 
oj-  snoring,  which  now*  become  audible  and  undoubtedly 
emanate  from  him,  are  to  be  believed,  he  is  asleep.  The 
other  in  moving  around  falls  on  his  side.  His  hands  are 
seen  to  be  tied,  his  feet  also,  and  a  handkerchief  is  over 
Ins  mouth.  As  lie  can't  straighten  himself  up  he  rolls  over 
and  over  until  he  bumps  Into  the  sleeping  figure). 

FLANAGAN:  (Sitting  up)  Can't  you  leave  me  be,  Wil 
liam?  What's  the  matter  with  ye  rolling-  over  and  over 
like  a  rolling-  pin?  Faith,  it's  the  least  you  could  be  after 
doing  to  kape  quiet  while  I  was  saying  my  prayers.  Be- 
gorra !  Perhaps  ye  wanted  me  to  say  a  prayer  for  you. 

33 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

Well,  it's  the  devil  a  lick  of  a  prayer  I'd  be  saying  for  the 
likes  of  ye,  ye  old  bag  of  bones.  Shure  it's  the  fine  big 
nose  ye  have  and  a  pair  of  mustaches  like  the  old  boy 
himself.  Here  let's  have  a  bit  of  light  so  I  can  see  your 
handsome  face.  (Here  he  lights  an  oil  lantern  and  places 
it  on  a  stool  by  the  prostrate  man  who  makes  an  effort  to 
sit  up.  The  light  discloses  him  to  be  a  tall  thin  young 
man  dressed  in  the  grey  uniform  of  a  German  soldier) 

FLANAGAN:  (Stands,  with  his  hands  on  his  hips  looking 
at  him)  Arrah !  It's  sit  up  you  want.  (Making  the 
motion  of  straightening  up,  the  German  nods)  So  it  wasn't 
a  night  attack  at  all,  at  all,  but  just  a  bit  of  a  nudge  to  call 
me  back  from  my  conversation  with  the  Holy  Saints.  Well ! 
(He  stoops  over  and  takes  the  German  under  the  arms, 
drags  him  back  again  and  sits  him  up  against  the  sand  bag 
wall  of  the  shelter)  There  ye  are,  my  jolly  German.  (The 
vn'i  makes  grimaces,  evidently  wants  the  bandages  taken 
off 'so  lie  can  speak.  He  looks  anything  but  a  "jolly  Ger- 
niau.'") 

FLANAGAN:  (Eyeing  him  disapprovingly)  Ye  needn't 
tc  making  such  pretty  faces  at  me.  I  like  ye  just  as  ye 
ere.  I  wouldn't  be  changing  a  thing  about  ye.  Not  a 
tli in?;.  Faith,  I  had  trouble  enough  getting  ye  here  all  by 
myself.  And  I'll  be  leavin'  ye  just  as  ye  are,  Herman, 
s  MI  til  the  guard  comes.  Ye  poked  yer  head  up  once  too 
efi'-o*!  o'.it  of  them  rabbit  holes  of  yours.  There  now,  be 
cniiet  for  a  bit,  while  I  speak  to  Saint  Anthony.  I've  lost 
rnv  pir»3  and  I  want  him  to  find  it  for  me.  (And  Flanagan 
s:ts  down  ati'i  is  preparing  to  roll  himself  up  in  his  over 
coat.  A  look  of  disgust  is  on  the  face  of  the  German  but 

34 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

he  is  apparently  making  a  virtue  of  necessity  and  leans 
back  against  the  wall  watching  Flanagan.  The  sound  of 
a  step  is  heard  coming  along  the  trench  from  the  right. 
Flanagan  springs  to  his  feet  in  an  instant  and  stands  there, 
the  model  of  a  soldier  on  guard,  as  a  man  appears  from 
the  right  and  advances  to  the  middle  of  the  stage.  He  is 
evidently  an  English  officer,  is  very  slender  and  quite 
young.  Flanagan  stands  at  attention.  He  returns  Flana 
gan's  salute  then  holds  out  his  hand.  Flanagan  looks  at 
the  hand  and  apparently  does  not  know  what  to  do  about 
it) 

OFFICER:  (Laughing)  Shake,  comrade.  (Flanagan 
Icoks  at  him  puzzled  but  puts  out  his  hand  and  shakes 
hands,  meanwhile  eyeing  him  very  carefully) 

OFFICER:  (Continuing)  A  mere  accident  of  birth  put  us 
where  we  are. 

FLANAGAN:  (Hotly)  That's  a  true  word.  If  we  hadn't 
have  been  born,  we  couldn't  have  been  here.  But  I'd  like 
ye  to  know  it  was  no  accident  with  my  mother,  whatever 
it  may  have  been  with  yours.  She  was  married  to  my 
father  before  my  older  brother  James  Barrie  was  born. 

OFFICER :  There,  there,  my  good  man,  no  offence ;  it  was 
a  mere  facon  de  parler.  I  meant  that  you  are  an  Irishman 
and  I  the  Prince  of  Wales.  (The  prisoner  has  not  been 
showing  much  attention  until  he  hears  ''Prince  of  Wales." 
He  looks  most  intently  at  the  young  officer  as  he  stands  in 
the  center  of  the  stage  talking  to  Flanagan.  His  back  is 
half  turned  to  the  German  but  his  side  face  is  quite  dis 
tinctly  visible  to  him  in  the  light  from  the  lantern.  He 

35 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

seems  quite  moved  by  his  scrutiny  and  sinks  his  head  fur 
ther  down  and  away  from  the  light.) 

FLANAGAN  :    Arrah !     It's  proud  I  am  to  be  what  I  am. 

PRINCE):  (Looking  at  him  with  great  interest)  Why 
sl-ould  you  be  proud  of  it?  You  couldn't  help  being  an 
Irishman  any  more  than  I  could  being  Prince  of  Wales. 
I  wish  I  could.  (Sorrowfully) 

FLANAGAN  :  ( Up  on  his  tiptoes  almost  prancing  with 
rage,  having  comprehended  only  the  first  half  of  the  Prince's 
speech)  And  yer  askin'  me  why  should  I  be  proud  of  it? 
(He  sees  the  Prince  eyeing  him  coolly  and  interestedly. 
It  seems  to  quiet  him)  Faith !  I  don't  know  why  I  should 
be  proud  of  it ! 

PRINCE):  (Hastily  agreeing,  interrupts)  Ireland  never 
did  anything  for  you. 

FLANAGAN:  (Interrupting  in  his  turn)  And  Wales 
doesn't  do  anything  for  you. 

PRINCE):  (Hastily)  Oh  yes  it  did.  It  gave  me  my  in 
vestiture. 

FLANAGAN:     (Reprovingly)     Well   there!      I    call    that 

downright  ungrateful  of  you.     Do  you  think (Here  the 

conversation  is  broken  upon  by  a  snort  from  the  German. 
Both  men  turn.  The  Prince  seeing  the  German  for  the 
first  time  goes  over  to  inspect  him.  The  German  again 
sinks  his  head,  trying  to  keep  his  face  from  the  light. 
Flanagan  follows  and  both  stand  looking  down  on  him) 

FLANAGAN:     (Raising   his   voice)     Hey   there,    Johnny 

36 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

Boche,  do  ye  understand  English?  (As  the  German  makes 
no  sign  of  having  understood,  Flanagan  bellozvs  in  his  ear) 
I'll  give  ye  a  prod  with  this  here  toastin'  fork  (Showing 
his  bayonet)  if  ye  don't  answer.  Understand?  (The  Ger 
man  nods) 

PRINCE  :  Come  let's  have  off  the  handkerchief.  He 
probably  talks  English. 

FLANAGAN:  I'll  not  that.  Faith!  It's  murdering  the 
King's  English  he'd  be.  He'd  think  no  more  of  murder 
ing  that  than  he'd  think  of  murdering  you  or  me,  the 
heathen.  If  so  be  he  got  the  chance. 

PRINCE:  Come,  come,  Pat.  He  couldn't  help  being  a 
German  any  more  than  you  could  an  Irishman,  as  I  said 
before. 

FLANAGAN:  (With  dignity)  If  you  please,  your  honor 
my  name  is  not  Pat.  It's  George  Bernard  Shaw  Flanagan, 
and  I'm  mostly  called  Flanagan. 

PRINCE:     (Laughing)     Beg  pardon,   Flanagan.      Sorry. 

FLANAGAN:  (Forgivingly)  That's  all  right,  your  grace. 
You  didn't  know. 

PRINCE:  (Turning  to  German)  It's  a  mere  ac — arbi- 
tiary  arrangement  of  Fate  that  he's  there  a  German  pris 
oner  and  I  a  free  man  talking  to  him. 

FLANAGAN  :  And  it  was  not  that.  Shure  wasn't  it  I  had 
the  time  catching  him  out  there.  And  I'm  only  waiting 
for  the  guard  to  come  to  relieve  me.  Then  I'll  be  after 
taking  him  back  as  a  present  to  the  general.  (Looking  at 

37 


THE    MORNINGSIDE    PLAYS 

the  prisoner  with  interest)  He's  the  only  one  I  ever  took 
whole.  He  hasn't  a  scratch,  bless  him!  (Patting  the 
German  on  the  head)  A  little  thin — but 

PRINCE:  Come,  Flanagan.  What  have  you  against  him? 
He  never  did  you  a  bit  of  harm.  Come,  let's  untie  him. 

FLANAGAN:  (With  decision)  That  I'll  not  do,  if  ye  were 
the  King  himself  that  asked  me. 

PRINCE:  (Looking  sharply  at  the  prisoner)  Please  now, 
Flanagan.  He  looks  like  a  Social  Democrat.  There  are 
too  few  of  them  in  Germany  now,  we  mustn't  make  pris 
oners  of  them.  I  was  telling  Haig  last  Sunday  at  tea  that 
we  oughtn't  to  make  any  of  the  Social  Democrats  prisoners 
but  send  them  back.  That's  the  way  to  make  public  opin 
ion.  In  a  few  years,  you  see,  (the  Prince  warming  to  his 
theme  turns  his  back  on  the  prisoner  who  looks  up  at  him 
scowling)  all  the  Imperialists  would  be  prisoners  and  the 
country  could  be  run  by  the  Democrats — and  Cousin  Wil 
liam  and  family  retired  to  private  life. 

FLANAGAN:  (Who  has  been  watching  the  German)  He 
may  be  a  Democrat  but  I'll  be  hanged  if  he's  Social.  Are 
you  a  Democrat?  (Turning  to  the  Prince) 

PRINCE:    I'm  a  Democrat  and  a  Socialist. 

FLANAGAN  :  You're  related  to  him  on  both  sides  of  the 
house.  I'm  only  a  Democrat.  I  voted  the  Democrat  ticket 
once  in  New  York.  I  was  there  only  six  months.  (Remi- 
niscently) 

PRINCE:  (With  enthusiasm)  The  States!  If  I  could 
only  be  President!  (The  prisoner  has  been  listening  in- 

38 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

tently  and  a  look  of  horror  grozvs  on  his  face.  At  the  last 
he  becomes  deadly  pale  and  his  head  falls  back  against  the 
vail  as  if  he  were  overcome  with  faintness.  The  noise  of 
advancing  steps  is  heard  coming  from  the  left.  Flanagan 
springs  to  attention  and  calls  out) 

FLANAGAN:  Who  goes  there?  (A  little  undersized  man 
comes  in  whom  one  recognizes  as  a  Cockney  before  he 
opens  his  mouth.  He  is  accompanied  by  a  man  who,  as  he 
appears,  is  seen  to  be  busily  writing  on  a  tablet  by  the  light 
of  a  little  electric  torch  stuck  under  his  arm.  He  is  an 
American  reporter,  Jerry  Dunn  by  name) 

DUNN:  (Without  looking  up)  And  this  is  one  of  the 
most  advanced  and  dangerous  positions,  you  say? 

HARRIS:  All  of  that.  (He  salutes  Flanagan  and  starts 
back  in  mock  surprise)  Who  'ave  we  'ere!  The  bloomin' 
'ero  Flanagan!  (He  claps  him  on  the  shoulder  and  as  he 
does  so  catches  sight  of  the  Prince,  but  in  the  dim  light 
does  not  see  he  is  an  officer)  Sy,  introduce  us  to  your  pal, 
old  top. 

FLANAGAN:  (With  a  wave  of  his  hand  to  the  Prince) 
Kis  Royal  Highness,  the  Prince  of  Wales. 

HARRIS:  (Taking  it  as  a  joke  of  Flanagan's,  whips  off 
his  hat  and  makes  a  low  bow  with  great  empressment) 
Most  'onored,  your  Royal  'ighness. 

PRINCE:  (Stepping  forward)  Come  lad.  Shake  hands. 
We're  but  two  men.  (Holds  out  his  hand.  Flanagan's 
repeating  the  name  of  the  Prince  of  Wales  evidently  caught 
the  ear  of  the  American,  who  looks  up  sharply  at  the 

39 


THE    MORNINGSIDE    PLAYS 

Prince,  then  thrusts  his  hand  deep  in  the  pocket  of  his  coat 
and  pulls  out  what,  at  first,  looks  like  a  pack  of  cards.  He 
hastily  goes  through  them,  stops,  takes  out  one,  looks  at 
it  critically  under  his  electric  torch,  then  shoots  the  light 
of  the  torch  on  the  Prince) 

DUNN:  (Ecstatically  holding  one  of  the  pack  of  cards 
which  proves  to  be  a  postcard  of  the  Prince  of  Wales)  It 
is,  boys.  It  is  the  Prince  of  Wales.  Here's  his  picture 
on  this  postcard  and  he's  the  spittin'  image  of  it.  Ah,  your 
Highness,  this  is  too  much  luck.  To  get  out  to  the.  fur- 
these  trenches  and  to  meet  your  Highness !  This  is  too 
much  luck  for  Jerry  Dunn ! 

PRINCE::    (Interestedly)    Who's  Jerry  Dunn? 

DUNN:  (Taking  out  a  business  card  and  handing  it  to 
him)  I  am,  Your  Highness.  I'm  (He  reads  from  the  card 
which  he  then  gives  to  the  Prince)  Jeremiah  H.  Dunn, 
Special  Reporter  for  the  New  York  "Times."  Now  you 
don't  know  what  a  big  thing  it  would  be  to  me  if  you  would 
give  me  an  interview.  Tell  me  how  it  feels  to  be  Prince 
of  Wales,  when  you  think  the  war  will  end  and  what 

Princess  you  are  going  to  marry  and (He  stops  for 

breath) 

PRINCE:  No,  I  can't  be  interviewed.  I  promised 
Mother  before  they'd  let  me  come  that  I  would  never  be 
interviewed  but  I'll  tell  you  it's  rotten  to  be  Prince  of 
Wales.  And  I  never  am  when  I  can  help  it.  Here  we 
are  just  four  men  together. 

FLANAGAN  :    And  the  German,  your  honor. 

40 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 
PRINCE::    Oh  yes,  and  the  German — Five  men. 

FLANAGAN:  (Interrupting)  And  I'll  not  be  associating 
with  that  German  at  all.  It's  four  men  we  are  and  the 
German. 

HARRIS:  Ayn't  the  bloody  German  a  man?  S'elp  me! 
Where Ve  yer  got  'im  ? 

FLANAGAN  :  Over  there.  (Pointing  to  where  the  Ger 
man  prisoner  sits  all  crumpled  up  against  the  zvall  with  his 
head  sunk  doivn  lower  than  ever  as  if  he  were  asleep.  As 
a  matter  of  fact  he  is  not  as  he  has  been  interestedly  fol 
lowing  the  conversation  until  attention  zvas  called  to  him. 
Harris  goes  over  to  him,  followed  by  Dunn.  They  stand 
looking  down  on  him) 

HARRIS  :  Sy !  You've  got  the  bloomin'  Hun  tied  so  tight 
he's  fynted.  (Dunn  meanwhile  has  put  his  hand  in  his 
other  pocket  and  pulled  out  another  batch  of  postal  cards, 
he  goes  through  them  stopping  over  two  or  three  and  look 
ing  inquiringly  at  the  prisoner.  One  particularly  seems  to 
hold  his  attention.  The  German  has  cast  furtive  glances 
at  him  and  now  blows  out  his  cheeks  and  rumples  up  his 
forehead.  The  Prince  moves  back  of  Dunn  and  looks  over 
his  shoulder  at  the  postals') 

PRINCE:    What  are  these? 

DUNN  :  These  are  the  postcards  of  the  German  royalties. 
I  keep  them  in  the  left  pocket  and  the  Allies  in  the  right. 
Nothing  like  system.  Now  I  think  (Pursing  up  his  lips.) 
I  think  he  looks  something  like  this  one,  but  he's  fuller  in 

41 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

the  face.     Can't  see  with  that  handkerchief  tied  over  his 
face. 

PRINCE):    Come,  Flanagan,  take  off  the  handkerchief. 

FLANAGAN:  (Stands  with  his  feet  apart  looking  at  the 
Prince)  Are  ye,  or  are  ye  not,  talking  to  me  as  the  Prince 
of  Wales? 

PRINCE:  I'm  not,  Flanagan.  I've  left  that  behind  me 
with  Haig.  I'm  talking  to  you  as  man  to  man. 

FXANAGAN  :  Well  then,  as  man  to  man,  I'll  see  ye  to  the 
devil  first.  I'll  not  have  that  handkerchief  off  that  beast's 
mouth.  I  made  a  vow  come  Thursday  week  never  to  hear 
the  German  tongue  again — and  that  vow  I'm  after  keep 
ing.  Any  one  who  touches  that  German  will  account  to 
me.  And  I'm  willing  to  fight  ye  singly  or  in  couples. 
(He  assumes  a  belligerent  attitude)  Come  on  in  closed  or 
open  formation  or  in  any  damned  formation  that  suits  yer. 

DUNN:  (Pacifically)  There,  there,  Erin,  Home  Rule, 
think  of  it.  Neutrality  is  our  middle  name.  Quiet  there, 
England.  (This  to  Harris  who  has  been  bristling  and  is 
prancing  about  zvith  his  hand  in  position  waiting  for  a 
chance  to  get  one  in  on  Flanagan.  Even  the  Prince  seems 
a  little  incensed) 

PRINCE::  Come — come,  Flanagan.  Be  reasonable.  (Turn 
ing  to  Dunn)  You're  quite  right.  (With  a  wave  of  his 
hand  toward  Flanagan)  No  wonder  they  won't  let  Father 
give  Ireland  Home  Rule  if  they're  all  like  that.  (Turning 
to  Flanagan  and  speaking  in  a  high  moral  Sunday  School 

42 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

manner)     Learn   to   rule   yourself   before  you   would   rule 
others.     Mother  says 

FLANAGAN:  (Calming  down  but  with  a  watchful  eye  on 
Harris)  Who  wants  to  rule  anybody?  It's  a  hell  of  a  lot 
of  ruling  your  Father  does ! 

PRINCE:  (Shaking  his  head  dejectedly)  Quite  true. 
They  don't  let  Father  do  anything. 

HARRIS:  (Stopping  his  belligerent  intentions  and  be 
coming  interested  in  the  subject  under  discussion)  And 
why  should  they  ?  I  arsk.  \Yhy  should  they  ?  ( Waxing 
vehement  with  the  eloquence  of  the  Park  speakers)  The 
only  bloomin'  thing  'e's  done  on  'is  own  since  the  war  be 
gan  was  to  fall  hoff  'is  bloomin'  'orse.  (Waving  his 
hands)  Now  I  arsk  you  stryght  what  do  we  want  of  'im? 
'E  can't  hexpect  a  nytion  to  be  proud  of  'im?  'E  can't. 
'E'd  better  tyke  'is  hairin's  in  a  bally  pram,  'e  'ad. 

PRINCE:  (Interrupting)  I  tell  you  nobody  could  have 
been  sorrier  than  Father  was  about  that.  He's  laid  up  yet. 
The  Mater  gave  him  quite  a  talking  to. 

HARRIS  :  Betcher  she  gave  'im  some  stryte  talk.  She 
knows  how  to  wear  the  "breeches." 

FLANAGAN:  (Breaking  in)  I'll  not  be  after  hearing  you 
speak  so  disrespectful  of  your  Sovereign.  God  bless  him ! 
You  be  after  keeping  a  civil  tongue  in  your  head.  Don't 
you  know  you're  speaking  of  this  boy's  Father,  and  this 
boy's  a  friend  of  mine. 

PRINCE  :    Thank  you,  Flanagan. 

43 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

FLANAGAN:  (Turning  to  the  Prince)  Don't  you  pay  any 
attention  to  him,  your  Highness.  Everybody  knows  how 
they  go  on  in  the  Park  of  a  Sunday.  You  know  they're 
foine  fighters  and  sound  at  heart,  your  Majesty. 

PRINCE:  (Dejectedly)  I  know.  And  they're  right  too. 
It's  listening  to  them  has  made  me  a  Socialist.  If  I  could 
only  be  Prime  Minister!  But  what  chance  have  I  to  be 
Prime  Minister  when  I'm  Prince  of  Wales !  Any  boy  in 
the  Kingdom  may  become  Prime  Minister  but  me.  Now 
I  ask  you  is  that  fair?  Is  that  a  square  deal? 

HARRIS:    (Breaking  in)    No,  it  ayn't. 

PRINCE:  (Continuing)  If  anything  should  happen  to 
Father,  then  I'd  have  to  take  his  place  and  be  trotted  out 
en  State  occasions  like  the  Royal  Coach  in  the  Coronation. 
I  have  to  know  how  to  write  my  name  to  sign  the  laws — 
and  that's  all. 

DUNN:  (He  has  been  listening  and  making  copious 
notes,  every  now  and  again  looking  through  his  postcards 
of  the  German  royalties,  now  holds  one  out  comparing  it 
to  the  prisoner)  Say,  boys,  this  one  really  looks  something 
like  him,  but  the  name's  come  off. 

PRINCE:  Let  me  see.  (Takes  the  postcard)  Oh,  that's 
the  Crown  Prince.  I  haven't  seen  the  White  Rabbit  for 
years  but  I'd  know  him  anywhere.  The  last  time  he 
visited  us  he  made  Mary  and  me  play  Adam  and  Eve  while 
he  was  God  and  locked  us  out  of  the  Garden.  Kitchener 
found  us  walking  about  in  the  street  and  made  him  unlock 
the  gate  for  us.  He  always  hated  Kitchener  for  that. 

44 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

Mary  made  me  promise  if  I  met  him  I'd  give  him  one  where 
it  would  do  the  most  good.  I  haven't  met  him  yet,  but 
I'm  looking  for  him.  (At  this  moment  consternation  is 
cast  over  the  group.  The  sound  of  an  approaching  aero 
plane  is  heard.  With  one  accord  they  dash  for  the  open 
ing  of  an  underground  shelter.  Flanagan  covers  the  lan 
tern  with  his  great  coat  as  he  runs  by.  The  purr  of  the  motor 
grows  louder  and  louder,  evidently  passing  overhead,  then 
fades  away  in  the  distance.  They  emerge,  Flanagan  lead 
ing.  He  takes  the  coat  from  the  light  as  he  passes,  which 
now  falls  directly  on  the  prisoner  and  attracts  his  atten 
tion.  He  stands  there  pointing  his  finger  at  the  German 
who  is  eyeing  him  with  hostility) 

FLANAGAN  :    Faith !     we  forgot  all  about  the  Hun ! 

HARRIS:  't  would  have  served  him  jolly  well  right  if  they 
had  dropped  a  bomb. 

DUNN:  (Interestedly,  with  pencil  poised  over  pad  to 
make  notes]  How  do  you  know  that  was  one  of  theirs? 

HARRIS  :    By  the  'eart  beat,  lovey. 
FLANAGAN  :    Your  own,  ye  mean. 

PRINCE:  I've  heard  they  send  one  out  about  midnight 
every  night.  (Leaning  over  so  the  light  from  the  lantern 
will  fall  upon  his  watch)  Suffering  Joseph!  It's  a  quarter 
to  twelve  and  (in  a  panic  of  consternation)  I  haven't  done 
a  good  deed  to-day — and  I  must  before  the  clock  strikes 
twelve!  Which  one  of  you  shall  I  do  it  to?  (/;/  a  belli 
gerent  tone) 

45 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

HARRIS:  (Paying  more  attention  to  the  tone  than  the 
words)  Not  me,  your  'Ighness. 

FLANAGAN:  (In  a  soothing  voice)  Don't  worry  yerself, 
me  boy.  There's  a  lot  of  us  haven't  killed  our  German 
to-day. 

DUNN  :  (Speaking  aloud  as  he  writes)  The  Prince  of 
Wales  kills  one  German  a  day. 

PRINCE:  (Overhearing  him  turns  in  his  direction)  I  do 
not.  I've  vowed  to  do  one  good  deed  every  day.  I'm  the 
head  of  the  Boy  Scouts.  Baden  Powell  made  me  join. 
(Rather  peevishly)  Oh  dear,  it's  only  ten  minutes  to  and 
none  of  you'll  let  me  do  him  a  good  deed.  What  shall  I 
do!  (His  eye  lights  on  the  German)  I'll  take  the  handker 
chief  off  his  mouth.  (Starting  toward  the  prisoner  with 
hand  outstretched) 

FLANAGAN:  (Stepping  in  front  of  him  with  open  arms 
to  bar  the  way)  And  I'll  not  be  after  lettin'  ye  do  that. 
Didn't  I  make  a  vow  only  last  Thursday  before  a  saint 
who'd  lost  its  head,  so  I  don't  know  which  one  it  was — 
though  I  think  it  was  a  lady.  Didn't  I  take  a  vow  never 
to  hear  the  German  tongue  again?  (A  rhetorical  ques 
tion)  Well,  I  did  that  same  and  I'll  keep  me  vow.  (The 
Prince  tries  to  dodge  one  side  of  him.  Flanagan  who  is  a 
very  big  man  catches  him  by  the  collar  and  holds  him,  quiet 
in  front  of  him) 

PRINCE  :    We'll  make  him  promise  to  speak  English. 

FLANAGAN  :    Well,   even   if  he   spoke   English,   wouldn't 

46 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

he  be  using  the  German  tongue?    Seeing  as  how  he's  after 
being  a  German. 

PRINCE:  But  I've  been  telling  you  that  he  can't  help 
being  a  German.  He  was  born  that  way.  I  fancy  he'd 
rather  have  been  born  something  else — a — a — 

HARRIS  :    A  bloody  bloomin'  Turk  ! 

DUNN:  (Saying  aloud  the  words  as  he  writes  them 
down)  All  Germans  wash  they  had  been  born  Turks. 
(Nobody  pays  any  attention  to  him  but  the  German  who 
shoots  a  malevolent  look  at  him  out  of  the  corner  of  his 
eye.  The  Prince  looks  again  at  his  watch) 

PRINCE:  Oh  dear!  Oh  dear!  Five  minutes  to  twelve 
and  I  haven't  kept  my  vow  and  no  one  will  let  me  do  him 
a  good  turn. 

FLANAGAN:  (Lets  go  of  Jiis  collar  and  looks  at  him 
sympathetically  for  a  second)  I'll  tell  ye  what  I'll  do,  me 
boy.  I'll  give  him  to  ye,  for  I'm  after  taking  a  fancy  to  ye 
Ye  may  set  him  free  if  ye  want  to.  But  he  must  not  speak 
while  he's  in  my  presence.  (Grandiloquently)  I  must 
keep  me  vow,  and  I'll  not  be  lettin'  him  wag  his  German 
tongue  at  me. 

PRINCE:  (Enthusiastically)  Oh,  Flanagan,  that  is  aw 
fully  good  of  you.  Thank  you  so  much.  (Looks  at  his 
watch)  Only  three  minutes.  (Goes  and  stands  in  front 
of  the  German,  and  addresses  him)  Did  you  hear  wrhat 
this  gentleman  (with  a  wave  of  his  hand  toward  Flanagan) 
said?  (The  German  nods)  Now  I  can  let  you  go  free  in 
two  minutes,  you're  my  good  deed — the  only  one  I  can 

47 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

find.  I've  got  to  do  it.  Now  you  couldn't  help  being  born 
?  German,  could  you?  (No  response  from  the  prisoner) 
Answer  me.  Nod.  (The  German  shakes  his  head,  but 
does  not  look  very  pleased)  No,  of  course,  you  couldn't. 
I'm  sorry  for  you  and  I'm  going  to  let  you  free  but  you 
mustn't  speak.  Remember. 

FLANAGAN  :  (As  he  takes  a  gun  and  raises  it  to  his 
shoulder)  If  he  speaks  I'll  shoot  him,  tell  him.  I'll  take 
no  talk  from  the  likes  of  him. 

PRINCE:  Did  you  hear  that?!  (The  German  nods. 
During  the  foregoing  scene  the  audience  hears  the  faint 
purr  of  an  aeroplane's  motor  and  it  grozvs  louder  during 
the  following.  The  actors  are  so  taken  up  with  the  free 
ing  of  the  prisoner  that  they  apparently  do  not  hear  it) 

DUNN:  (Writing  busily,  murmurs  to  himself)  The 
Prince  of  Wales  is  very  humane  and  often  frees  German 
prisoners,  thereby  setting  a  good  example  to  the  Boy  Scouts. 
(The  Prince  meanwhile  has  gone  to  the  prisoner  and  has 
started  to  untie  his  arms.  He  looks  up  and  sees  Harris 
standing  by,  doing  nothing) 

PRINCE}:  Here,  Harris,  you  untie  his  legs.  (Harris 
leans  over  and  undoes  the  rope  around  the  prisoners  ankles, 
a±  he  does  so  he  gives  the  German  a  pinch  that  makes  him 
jump.  The  Prince  looks  up  just  in  time  to  catch  him  at  it) 

PRINCE:    Stop  that,  Harris,  that's  not  fair. 

HARRIS:  'Ave  a  'eart,  your  'Ighness,  'is  legs're  asleep. 
(He  leans  over  and  takes  the  prisoner's  hands)  Give  me 
your  clappers,  my  pretty.  (With  a  mighty  pull  he  brings 

48 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

him  to  his  feet,  saying  as  he  docs  so)  Ups-a-dysie.  (The 
sound  of  a  tiny  bell  is  heard  striking  twelve.  It  is  the 
Prince's  repeater.  The  German  sta)ids  opposite  him  with 
the  handkerchief  still  muffling  the  lower  part  of  his  face) 

PRINCE:  (Saluting  the  German)  You  are  free,  sir. 
(The  German  bows  to  each  one  of  the  company  in  turn, 
who  returns  the  salutation.  He  steps  across  the  stage  to 
the  stairzvay  leading  to  the  top  of  the  rampart,  mounts  them 
and  stands  but  dimly  seen  in  the  light  from  the  lantern. 
He  pulls  the  handkerchief  away  from  his  mouth  and  blows 
a  shrill  blast  upon  a  whistle.  The  aeroplane  is  heard  very 
distinctly.  A  searchlight  waves  across  the  stage  and  dis 
closes  Dunn  busily  writing,  looking  up  every  now  and  then 
to  see  what  is  going  on.  The  Prince  and  Harris  stand 
looking  at  the  aeroplane  and  Flanagan,  with  his  gun  to  his 
shoulder,  is  ready  to  shoot  if  the  German  should  speak. 
The  light  at  last  falls  on  the  figure  on  the  wall  and  in  its 
strong  blaze  shoivs  him  to  be  the  Crown  Prince.  In  per 
fect  silence  he  bows  again  to  each  in  turn  but  when  he 
comes  to  the  Prince  of  Wales  he  puts  his  thumb  to  his  nose, 
then  grasps  a  rope  that  is  evidently  dangling  from  the 
aeroplane,  and  disappears  from  view.  The  light  goes. 
The  motors  start  up  and  their  purr  soon  fades  awav  in  the 
distance.  The  figures  stand  for  a  moment  speechless) 

DUNN:  (Regaining  his  senses  first)  Well,  well!  What 
do  you  know  about  that?!  (Turning  to  Harris)  It  was 
the  Crown  Prince  after  all.  I 

HARRIS:  If  you  say  "I  told  you  so,"  I'll  knock  your  silly 
'ead  hoff. 

49 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

DUNN  :  Oh,  I  wasn't  but  I  did.  (Harris  makes  a  pass 
at  him)  Oh,  very  well,  very  well.  (Begins  to  write  busily, 
murmuring  to  himself)  The  cousinly  relations  between 
the  Crown  Prince  and  the  Prince  of  Wales  have  not  been 
broken  off  despite  the  War. 

FLANAGAN:  (Drops  the  butt  of  his  gun  to  the  pavement 
and  shakes  his  fist  in  the  direction  of  the  aeroplane)  Arrah! 
If  you'd  only  wagged  that  damned  tongue  of  yours ! 

PRINCE::  (Comes  to  himself  last  and  looks  around  say 
ing  in  a  whisper)  Don't  any  of  you  tell  Mary. 

CURTAIN 


50 


MARKHEIM 

A  Dramatization  from  the  Story 

of  (ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 
Zellah  Z&acDonald 


MARKHEIM 

Original  cast  appearing  in  the  first  production  at  the 
Comedy  Theatre,  New  York,  April  22,  1917 

CHARACTERS 

THE  DEALER  REMO  BUFANO 

MAIDIE i JOSEPHINE  JEFFERSON 

MARKHEIM    GEORGE  HAYES 

A  VOICE  .  . . PENDLETON  KING 


Markheim 

MARKHEIM — A  lean  frowning  face,  good  in  its  lines  but 
evil  in  expression.  His  long  lean  body  Jias  yet  a 
certain  unfettered  grace  of  carnage.  His  clothes 
though  shabby  bear  the  marks  of  excellent  tailoring. 

THE  DEALER — A  bird-like  grotesque  little  creature  with  a 
rounded  back  like  a  robin  and  spiderish  arms  and 
legs  with  long,  talon-like  fingers,  which  by  their 
wild  flourishes  and  gestures  proclaim  a  French 
strain  somewhere.  His  tousled  yellow  mop  of  hair, 
apple  cheeks,  and  childishly  brilliant  blue  e\es  lend 
a  curious  imbecility  of  expression  to  his  face.  Rip 
ples  of  laughter  break  from  him  intermittently. 

CONSCIENCE — A  whimsical  figure  never  ver\  clearly  de 
nned,  clad  in  a  dark  costume  unillumined  save  when 
touched  b\  the  light  of  the  sunbeam  when  it  turns 
to  pure  gold.  With  something  sprite-like  in  his 
movements  he  is  rarely  still. 

THE  MAIDIE — A  vivid  flash  of  natural  color,  too  taken  up 
with  her  own  tragedy  in  the  beginning  and  her  late 
ness  in  the  end  to  fully  appreciate  in  her  panting  out 
of  breath  state,  the  deep  significance  of  Markheim  s 
hour. 
TIME:  From  eleven  to  twelve  on  Christmas  morning. 

53 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

There  is  the  sound  of  Church  bells,  their  last  clamor 
hastily  summoning  to  prayer  the  tardy  who  still  linger 
along  the  road. 

The  curtain  rises  upon  the  kind  of  old  curiosity,  jewelry 
clock  shop  so  common  in  the  off  streets  of  London.  On 
all  sides  is  a  furious  ticking  of  clocks,  big  clocks,  little 
clocks,  foolish  French  porcelains,  and  heavy  mahogany s  all 
going,  ticking  away  at  a  pace  at  once  frenzied  and  anxious. 

To  the  left  in  a  kind  of  little  alcove  is  a  high  desk  on 
which  is  placed  a  single  dripping  candle.  Behind,  a  door 
ajar  leads  to  a  cavernous  stairway,  and  to  the  right  the 
room  runs  back  to  a  murky  doorway  with  murkier  win 
dows  on  either  side  heavily  shuttered.  The  interstices  are 
filled  with  curious  objects,  a  kind  of  a  jumble  of  silver 
candelabras,  Chinese  gongs,  jeweled  goblets,  a  glittering 
porcelain  and  crystal  chandelier  with  chinking  prisms  when 
ever  some  wave  of  wind  sets  them  in  motion.  In  a  con 
spicuous  place  two  tall,  sneering  Buddhas  with  limpid 
glittering  eyes  in  their  foreheads.  Beneath  is  an  incense 
coffer. 

As  the  eye  becomes  accustomed  to  the  scene,  a  great 
empty  room  becomes  visible  above  the  shop.  In  the  left, 
set  at  an  angle,  a  door  is  ajar.  At  the  back  are  two  tall 
churchlike  windows  through  one  of  which  a  single  sun 
beam  finds  its  way  across  the  room. 

Above  the  sound  of  the  clocks  is  evident  a  curious  hum 
ming,  which  grows  querulous  and  cracky  anon. 

The  Dealer  enters,  dodging  out  from  behind  one  of  the 
clocks.  He  clambers  on  the  high  stood  and  from  an  old 
bag  drags  out  a  few  coins.  He  fingers  them  lovingly  with 
the  feverish  grasp  of  a  miser.  Then  he  glances  at  a  cal- 

54 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

endar  marked  in  large  letters,  December  24th.  which  is 
now  visible  in  the  light  of  the  candle  he  holds  up. 

Suddenly  he  tears  off  the  top  page  disclosing  the  new 
one  marked  "December  25th,"  and  then  passing  quickly 
to  a  rather  large  looking  clock  of  French  make,  resembling 
a  portion  of  the  Strassburg  Clock,  he  peers  up  into  its 
face  holding  the  candle  so  as  to  illumine  it,  showing  the 
hands  at  two  minutes  to  eleven.  The  bells  are  still  ring 
ing  but  now  with  a  quickened  watering  note  as  if  the  bell- 
ringer  were  putting  extra  strength  into  the  few  last  pulls 
and  giz'ing  good  measure. 

He  replaces  the  candle  and  running  to  the  door  flings 
it  wide,  then  going  outside  takes  down  one  shutter  and 
staggers  in  with  it. 

The  light  in  the  shop  brightens  appreciabl\. 

A  view  of  the  terraced  entrance  to  the  church  now  fills 
the  open  doorway  and  the  windows  and  a  late  comer  is 
seen  hastening  up  the  steps  in  a  rain  endeavor  to  combine 
dignity  and  haste. 

The  Dealer  pauses  in  the  doorway  as  if  to  go  for  the 
other  shutter.  The  Bells  cease.  He  hurries  in  and  takes 
another  look  at  the  clock. 

Then  with  a  profound  bow,  he  addresses  the  Clocks. 

The  Dialogue  begins: 

THE  DEALER:  Good  morning,  my  dears.  Merry  Christ 
mas.  (Running  up  to  a  tall  Mahogany  and  putting  his 
arms  around  it  so  as  to  bring  his  ear  close  to  the  clock's 
long  body  as  a  doctor  might  sound  a  patient's  heart)  How 
is  the  heart  this  morning".  Pat,  pat,  pat.  Sixty  to  the 
minute.  Much  better.  Much  better.  Yesterday,  ah  yes- 

55 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

terday,  my  dear,  you  were  quite  ill.  (He  stands  a  moment 
regarding  them,  humming  softly,  and  then  hauling  out  a 
great  watch  he  stands  close  to  a  tall  lacquered  grandfather 
clock  of  the  seventeenth  century)  Ah!  (Shaking  his  fin 
ger)  A  touch  of  fever,  my  dear.  Too  much  excitement. 
Too  much  excitement.  You  will  be  an  invalid.  I  have 
told  you.  Running  at  that  pace  is  not  for  such  a  frail  old 
one  as  you.  Ha !  ha !  Not  so  young,  little  lady  as  you 
used  to  be.  Ah  we're  all  getting  old,  very  old.  Ah  yes. 
You  cannot  deny  that  you  are  the  child  of  old  Mudge,  and 
Mudge  has  been  dead — dead  long  enough  to  give  you  (In 
a  voice  of  growing  solemnity  and  horror)  great,  great, 
great,  great,  great  grandchildren,  my  dear.  Ah  yes.  I 
know.  Oh  it  is  true,  too  true.  ( Walking  to  a  little  French 
porcelain  bracket  clock  and  patting  its  golden  domed  head 
lovingly)  Well.  Well.  Well.  A  dirty  face  as  usual. 
Every  morning,  every  single  morning,  there  is  smut  on  your 
face.  And  your  hands,  Ma  Petite!  (His  own  large  ex 
pressive  hands  held  up  in  horror)  Ah !  Ma  Petite  they  are 
vrai  horrible.  (The  little  clock  catches  its  breath  and  there 
is  a  clutch  like  a  sob)  Whicht!  It  is  nothing  to  cry  about, 
nothing.  There,  there,  just  a  moment  (vanishing  a  minute 
to  return  with  a  bowl  and  a  bit  of  old  Turkish  worked 
linen)  Just — a — minute.  We  will  wash  the  roses  and  make 
them  as  fresh  as  buttercups.  N'est-ce-pas  ?  Ah,  now  you 
would  not  know  yourself.  No !  Such  a  dainty  wee  face. 
Ah  well,  the  others,  they  are  so  old  that  a  smut  more  or 
less  scarcely  shows  on  their  yellowed  old  skins.  (At  this 
moment  a  clock  begins  to  strike.  The  dealer  wheels  quickly 
and  passionately  shakes  his  fist  at  a  gaunt  specimen  of  old 
English  days)  At  it  again !  At  it  again !  A  fine  old  anti- 

56 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

quated  junk  jumble  you  are.  Always  chattering  out  at 
the  wrong  time.  Wrong  in  the  head.  Wrong  in  the  head. 
Like  me  to  think  it  was  something  wrong  with  your  voice, 
wouldn't  you.  But  you're  out  of  your  head.  Mad,  quite 
mad.  You're  no  good,  and  I  shall  sell  you.  I  won't  have 
you  here.  You  old  decrepit.  I  shall  sell  you  the  very 
first  chance.  The  oil  I  have  fed  you.  It  would  keep  a 
whole  family  of  clocks.  Oh  yes.  I  will  get  rid  of  you. 
Your  clothes,  Monsieur  are  unimpeachable.  Your  stoop 
only  adds  to  your  attractiveness.  I  shall  manage  quite  a 
sum  for  you.  If — if  they  only  come  in  when  you're  right 
in  the  head.  (The  dealer  now  shuts  the  front  case  with 
a  bang  and  turns  to  a  small  table  clock — a  squat  old  marble 
clock  of  rather  pretentious  size}  Morning,  grandma. 
Merry  Christmas.  (Then  bending  nearer  as  if  to  one  quite 

deaf)  M-e-r-r-y  Chr ist — mas.     Fine  hearty  lady  aren't 

you?  And  they  thought  your  day  was  over.  But  they 
didn't  fool  old  Silverthorne.  Non,  non.  (He  moves  now 
to  a  small  ebony  with  a  beautiful  old  face  and  elegantly 
proportioned  hands)  Happy  New  Year,  your  highness. 
You're  so  terribly  dignified  my  dear.  Merry  Christmas 
seems  quite  out  of  place.  Well,  well.  (He  compares  its 
time  with  his  own  watch  and  shakes  his  head  dubiously) 
Never  do,  never  do,  my  dear.  Your  hands  are  your  un 
doing.  So  elegant  and  so  useless.  (He  runs  now  to  the 
desk  and,  produces  a  huge  book  comically  out  of  propor 
tion  to  his  small  self.  He  consults  it  and  addresses  the 
clock  severely)  A  slight  chill  yesterday  and  two  minutes 
behind,  and  now  to-day,  a  touch  of  fever  and  thirty  sec 
onds  ahead.  Never  do.  Never  do  in  the  wide — wide — 
world.  Your  face  is  your  fortune,  my  dear.  We'll  have 

57 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

tc  make  the  most  of  it.  Ornamental,  very,  but  for  use 
(Holding  up  his  hands  in  horror)  No  use  at  all.  (His 
attention  is  now  attracted  to  an  onyx,  modern  and  vulgar) 
Well,  Upstart?  Keeping  the  time  all  right,  aren't  you? 
Yes,  to-day.  But — to-morrow?  Next  year?  Never. 
(Shaking  one  finger  solemnly)  Hurry  up.  Hurry  up. 
You  get  out  of  here  just  as  soon  as  you  can.  Oh  I  know 
you're  in  fashion.  The  latest.  But  out  you  go  the  first 
opportunity.  There'll  be  a  young  dandy  in  here  presently 
looking  for  a  wedding  present,  and — out  you  go.  You 
haven't  any  constitution.  Can't  fool  with  invalids  and  sick 
folk.  You're  asthmatic  and  weak  already.  You've  got  to 
go,  Upstart.  (He  stands  back  now  and  addresses  them  all 
with  a  kind  of  fatherly  pride)  Now,  my  children,  as  it's 
Christmas  morning  and  a  holiday  and  you've  all  been  good 
I  shall  make  you  a  little  present,  a  wonderful  present.  I 
shall  give  you  all,  yes  Upstart,  and  you  needn't  snueeze 
over  it,  a — three  drops  of  oil.  Hah !  Ha !  I  shall  waste 
quite  a  fortune  on  you.  But — you  are  my  children.  (He 
starts  his  little  song  again  and  goes  back  stage  picking  up 
a  bottle  here  and  a  bowl  there  and  making  quite  a  clatter 
zvith  his  mixing.  Returning  he  proceeds  to  doctor  the 
clocks.  Meantime  steps  sound  cautiously  down  the  stairs. 
Timidly,  cautiously,  the  Maidie  enters  from  the  stairway 
door.  She  is  evidently  getting  up  courage.  With  a  little 
jerk  she  starts  forward.  The  dealer  discovers  her  and 
turns  upon  her  swiftly.  She  shrinks  back  but  quickly  re 
covers  herself) 

MAIDIE:     (Timidly)   Very  Merry  Christmas Sir. 

DEALER:     Merry     Christmas,     indeed.        Now     I'd     like 

58 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

to  know  what  you've  got  to  be  merry  about.     Father  in 
jail,  mother  ill,  and  a  silly  sister. 

MAIDIE  :    Oh,  sir,  the  doctor  man  thinks  he  can  cure  her. 

DEALER  :  Cure  her !  Cure  her !  Does  he !  Hm !  Well 
you  can  tell  your  mother  right  now  that  people  are 
no  different  from  clocks.  And  you  can't  cure  a  clock  that's 
wrongf  in  the  head. 


MAIDIE  :    Oh  sir,  we  hoped- 


DEALER:    Hoped.     I'd  like  to  know  what  right  you  had 
to  hope. 

MAIDIE  :    Oh  sir,  it's it's  Christmas. 

DEALER:    Christmas.     Oh  ho!     Suppose  you  thought  I'd 
give  you  something. 

MAIDIE  :    Oh  sir 


DEALER:  Don't  deny  it.  Don't  deny  it.  You  did. 
You  came  in  here  to  ask  me  for  a  present.  Hm !  I  don't 
even  know  that  I'll  give  you  your  wages  after  the  pot  you 
broke  yesterday. 

MAIDIE:  (Beginning  to  cry)  Oh  please,  please,  my 
mother  is  so  ill— 

DEALER  :  Should  have  thought  of  that  before  you 
broke  it.  7  can't  pay  for  your  mother  being  ill,  can  I  ? 
Wages  indeed.  How  much  do  you  suppose  is  left  out  of 
this  month's  or  next  month's  or  the  month  after  for  that 
matter  after  breaking  my  best  boiling  pot?  What  are  you 
hanging  round  for? 

59 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

MAIDIE:  Oh  sir,  it  was  cracked  and  —  oh  my  poor 
mother,  I  —  I  promised  I'd  bring-  her  something,  I  -  (The 
dealer  has  picked  up  a  small  dagger  and  as  he  notices  that 
the  clock  is  about  to  strike  he  flourishes  it  wildly) 


Whicht  !  Whicht  !  Be  quiet.  They're  going  to 
stiike!  (The  Maidie  drazvs  back,  startled.  Then  in  chorus 
all  the  clocks  strike  out  the  hour,  some  racing  ahead,  some 
Looming  out,  some  high,  some  low,  some  rough  and  mas 
culine,  some  sweet  and  silvery.  Then  the  big  clock  chimes 
out  a  carol  while  very  faintly  like  the  hidden  silvery  music 
of  elves,  a  music  bo.v  clock  is  playing  a  dainty  minuet) 

MAIDIE:    O  sir,  isn't  it  beautiful? 

DEALER:  (Brusquely  to  cover  his  emotion)  Beautiful! 
What  do  you  know  about  beauty?  (She  shrinks  back) 
Now  what  are  you  hanging  around  for?  It  will  soon  be 
twelve  o'clock  and  if  you're  late  I'll  —  I'll  take  some  more 
off  next  week. 

MAIDIE:  Oh  but  —  Sir  (Then  with  tremendous  courage) 
Oh  if  you'd  just  give  me  my  wages  now.  I  —  I  wanted  to 
take  my  mother  —  It's  her  cough,  Sir.  It's  —  Christmas. 

DEALER:  Spend  it,  would  you?  Much  better  for  you  not 
to  go  spending  it  on  foolishness. 

MAIDIE:  (In  a  sudden  passionate  flare  of  temper)  It's 
none  of  your  business  whether  —  (But  the  Dealer  threatens 
her  with  the  dagger  and  she  hustles  out  dropping  her  bag 
just  inside  the  door.) 

(Left  alone  the  Dealer  returns  to  his  clocks.     He  buries 

60 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

his  head  and  shoulders  in  their  works  and  produces  strange 
strokes  and  squeaks  and  groans  from  them.  All  the  wJiile 
he  continues  humming.  Markheim  for  the  last  few  seconds 
has  been  peering  in  at  the  window.  He  now  enters  and 
seeing  the  Maidic's  bag  upon  the  floor  picks  it  up  greedily. 
The  Maidie  re-enters,  casts  one  quick  anxious  glance  around 
and  bursts  into  tears) 

MAIDIE  :  Oh  Sir,  my  bag.  All  I  had.  Only  tuppence 
but  I'd  wanted  to  take  something  to  my  mother.  She's 
ill.  And  now  I've  lost  it.  Ah,  Sir,  help  me  to  find  it. 
(Markheim' s  shame  is  visible  in  his  face.  He  stoops  as  if 
finding  the  bag  and  picks  it  up) 

MARKHEIM:   What's  this? 

MAIDIE:  Oh  thank  you,  Sir,  thank  you.  The  little 
mother  guard  you  from  all  evil,  Sir.  (She  runs  off.  Mark 
heim  enters  into  view  of  the  dealer.  His  face  grows 
darker  and  more  forbidding.  The  Dealer  hears  someone 
coming  and  rubs  his  hands  together.  Markhcim's  eye  is 
caught  by  a  goblet  and  he  deftly  pockets  it) 

DEALER:  (Excitedly)  You  come,  Monsieur,  at  the  iden 
tical  moment.  (He  waves  to  the  clocks)  The  curtain  is 
up.  The  play  is  about  to  begin. 

MARKHEIM:    (Sinisterly)    I  come  on  business. 

DEALER:  Of  course.  Of  course,  but  having  come  on 
business  you  have  time  for  a  little  pleasure.  Ha !  Ha  !  It 
is  a  holiday.  I  feel  in  a  holiday  mood.  I  will — I  will 
show  you  my  treasures.  Ha  !  Ha  ! 

61 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

MARKHEIM  :  (Eagerly)  You  have  things  of  great  value 
here.  I  hope  you  know  how  to  take  care  of  them. 

DEALER  :  Take  care  of  them !  Ah,  Monsieur,  I  know 
clocks  as  the  priest  knows  souls.  They  are  just  like  people. 
Cranky  to-day,  fast  to-morrow.  They  have  their  colds  and 
their  fevers.  And  twice  a  day — twrice  every  day  they  put 
their  hands  up  so  (he  holds  his  hands  up,  palms  together) 
and  say  their  prayers.  Oh,  they  are  wise  things,  clocks 
are.  And — they  have  a  soul,  Monsieur.  Ah  yes.  Listen, 
you  can  hear  the  beat  of  them.  Do  you  know  what  it  is, 
Monsieur?  It  is  the  beat  of  a  human  heart  echoing  here. 
Ah,  yes.  And  when  a  clock  stops — do  you  know  what  I 
say?  I  say — somewhere  a  heart  has  stopped  also.  Oh  yes. 
It  is  a  strange  thing.  And  when  they  bring  me  their 
clocks  and  they  cry,  "Monsieur,  your  clock  is  not  good.  It 
will  not  go."  I  say,  "Madame,  Beware!  There  is  some 
thing  wrong  with  your  heart." 

MARKHEIM  :    "And  where  your  heart  is  there  shall " 

And  you,  you  have  a  heart  of  iron,  you  keep  all  these  clocks 
going.     Do  they  never  stop? 

DEALER  :  Never.  Unless — unless  someone  puts  a  feather 
in  the  works.  Old  Peter — Hush !  It  is  going  to  play  now. 
See!  (He  stands  back  admiringly  as  the  old  clock  is  about 
to  strike  the  quarter.  Out  of  the  little  trap  come  tzvo  fig 
ures,  one  gaily  belaboring  the  other.  It  is  a  little  panto 
mime  and  the  figures  make  the  semicircle  of  the  little  plat 
form  and  retire,  the  one  in  a  reclining  position,  felled  by 
the  blow  of  the  other) 

MARKHEIM:    A   neat   stroke!      (Seemingly   unconscious 

62 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

he  picks  up  the  dagger  with  which  the  Dealer  lias  threat 
ened  the  Maidie) 

DEALER  :  A  very  old  device.  Peter  Thompion  built  it. 
(Bitterly)  Clocks  in  Peter's  day  were  not  merely  to  keep 
time.  They  were  a  part  of  the  family. 

MARKHEIM:  (Raising  the  dagger)  A  clean  stroke.  (The 
Dealer  springs  back  in  alarm) 

DEALER  :  Monsieur,  Monsieur.  Take  care.  Take  care. 
That  is  not  a  toy  such  as  they  play  with  in  clocks.  One 
must  not  confuse  the  play  with  the  reality. 

MARKHEIM:  Xo?  Let  the  play  proceed.  (He  lowers 
his  arm  but  does  not  relinquish  the  dagger) 

DEALER  :  The  play  ?  The  play  ?  We  have  played  enough. 
It  is  time  for  business. 

MARKHEIM  :  (As  if  suddenly  resolved)  Yes.  Let  us  to 
business. 

DEALER:  (Eyeing  the  lump  in  his  pocket)  You  bring 
something.  Our  windfalls  you  see  are  of  various  kinds. 
Some  who  come  are  ignorant,  and  then — I  profit  by  my 
superior  knowledge.  Some  are  dishonest,  and  in  that  case 
i  touch  a  dividend  on  my  virtue. 

MARKHEIM:  I  come  (He  pauses  slightly  and  his  hand 
tightens  on  the  dagger)  not  to  buy  but  to  get. 

DEALER  :  So  ?  Ah  it  is  well  you  come  to  me  on  Christ 
mas  Day.  I  am  alone  in  my  house — (Markheim  looks  up 
eagerly.  It  is  evident  the  point  is  not  lost  on  him.)  My 
shutters  are  up.  I  make  it  a  point  of  refusing  business — 

63 


THE     MORNJNGSIDE     PLAYS 

MARKIIEIM  :  (With  an  evil  expression)  The  matter  was 
somewhat  urgent.  (He  does  not  meet  the  Dealer's  eyes) 

DEALER  :  Well  you  will  have  to  pay  for  that.  And  I  will 
make  you  pay  for  my  loss  of  time  when  I  should  be  bal 
ancing  my  books.  You  will  have  to  pay  for  a  kind  of 
manner  which  I  remark  in  you  to-day  strongly.  I  am  the 
essence  of  discretion.  I  ask  no  awkward  questions  but 
when  a  customer  cannot  look  me  in  the  eye  he  has  to  pay 
for  it. 

MARKHEIM  :    Pay?     (Muttering)    Yes.     One  of  us  pays. 


Ha.  Ha.  You  can  give  as  usual  a  clear  ac 
count  of  how  you  came  into  possession  of  the  object?  Still 
your  uncle's  cabinet?  A  remarkable  collector,  sir. 

MARKIIEIM:  (Scornfully,  his  scheme  is  so  much  bigger) 
This  time,  I  assure  you,  you  are  in  error. 

DEALER  :    So  ? 

MARKIIEIM  :  I  have  not  come  to  sell.  I  —  I  come  to  pur 
chase.  I  have  no  curios  to  dispose  of;  my  uncle's  cabinet 
is  bare  to  the  wainscot.  I  —  I  have  gambled  well  (His  eyes 
wander  round  the  room  taking  note)  and  should  more 
likely  add  to  it  than  otherwise.  My  errand  to-day  is  sim 
plicity  itself.  (The  Dealer  nods  his  head  from  side  to  side 
as  at  an  old  story.  He  glances  as  usual  tozvard  his  clocks. 
Markheim  suddenly  with  a  quick  movement  jams  a  tall 
clock  by  thrusting  his  hand  behind  him  into  the  peep  hole 
cf  the  pendulum} 

MARKHEIM  :     I    seek   a   Christmas   present    for  —  one   of 

64 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

whom  I  think  a  great  deal  and  (ingratiatingly)  of  course 
I  owe  you  every  excuse  for  disturbing  you  upon  so  small 
a  matter.  But  the  thing  was  neglected  till  now.  As  you 
very  well  know  a  wealthy  future  is  not  a  thing  to  be  ne 
glected. 

DEALER:  (Soberly  weighing  Markheim' s  words  and  nod 
ding  to  his  clocks  in  -final  agreement)  Well  Sir,  be  it  so. 
You  are  an  old  customer  after  all  (with  a  wink  at  the 
clocks)  So,  so.  A  rich  marriage.  If  you  have  a  chance 
to  marry  wealth  far  be  it  from  me  to  put  an  obstacle  in 
the  way.  (Markhcim  draws  a  quick  breath  as  if  relieved) 

MARKHEIM  :  If  I  am  not  mistaken  the  tall  clock  has 
stopped.  (The  dealer  turns  and  Markheim  quickly  closes 
the  shop  door) 

DEALER:  No.  No.  (Running  forward  feverishly)  It 
cannot  be.  It  has  not  stopped  for  fifteen  years.  The  old 
Knibbs.  (He  becomes  absorbed  in  the  clock.  Markheim 
with  a  quick  desperate  lurch  starts  forward  with  the  dagger, 
but  his  hand  falls  inert  and  he  leans  back  aghast.  His 
courage  fails)  Ah  !  It  is  a  feather  in  the  works  !  Old  Peter 
has  done  that.  He  said  he  would.  (Triumphantly)  It 
is  all  right  now. 

MARKHEIM:  (Bitterly)  Then,  sir,  your  heart  can  beat 
a  little  longer.  It  can  enjoy  these  many  treasures.  What 
a  fortune  you  have  here. 

DEALER:  No.  No.  (Suspiciously)  I  do  not  gather 
these  for  nothing.  I  tell  you,  sir.  Do  you  think  I  buy 
for  nothing?  And  nowadays  the  world  is  too  well  edu- 

65 


THE     MORNINGSIDB     PLAYS 

cated.  Ah  yes.  A  Fromantell  brings  a  great  price.  They 
know  their  value.  They  haggle.  Haggle  over  a  Froman 
tell.  Ah,  it  is  not  art — it  is  a  business.  (Fussily)  But  to 
business.  I  must  waste  no  more  time.  A  gift  for  a  lady. 
I  think  there  is  something  here.  (The  dealer  turns.  The 
candle  wavers  and  nearly  goes  out.  While  the  Dealer  is 
bent  over  a  case,  Markheim  gathers  himself  again.  He 
stiffens  his  arm,  wavers,  and  starts  fonvard  only  to  fall 
back  again} 

THE;  DEALER:  (Turning)  Here  is  a  nice  thing  for  a 
lady,  fifteenth  century,  warranted  from  a  good  collection 
too ;  but — I  reserve  the  name ;  in  the  interests  of  my  cus 
tomer  (chuckling).  He  was  just  like  you,  my  dear  sir,  the 
nephew  and  sole  heir  of  a  remarkable  collector. 

MARKHEIM:  (Stretches  out  his  hand  and  receives  a 
mirror  in  which  he  shrinks  back  from  his  own  face)  A 
mirror !  For  Christmas  !  Never  ! 

DEALER:    So!     And  why  not?    Why  not  a  mirror? 

MARKHEIM:  You,  you  ask  me  that?  Look  here,  look  in 
it — look  at  yourself.  Do  you  like  it?  Do  you  want  to  see 
it  ?  No  !  Nor  I — nor  any  one. 

DEALER:  (Humping  back  at  the  almost  sinister  gesture 
and  then  perceiving  that  nothing  was  meant,  he  chuckles) 
Your  future  lady,  sir,  must  be  pretty  hard  favored. 

MARKHEIM:  (With  sudden  passion)  I  asked  you  for  a 
Christmas  present,  and  you  give  me  this — this  damned  re 
minder — this  hand  conscience  !  Did  you  mean  it  ?  Had 
you  a  thought  in  your  mind?  Tell  me.  (Threateningly, 

66 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

the  dagger  in  his  hand)     It  will  be  better  for  you  if  you  do. 
You  are  alone  in  this  house.     Alone  with  these  treasures. 

DEALER:  (Suddenly  shaken  with  suspicion)  No.  No. 
It  was  a  mistake.  I — I  am  expecting  a  friend  at  any 
moment.  He — he  may  be  here  now.  Make  your  purchase 
and  -begone.  I  am  a  charitable  man  but  I  do  not  like  your 
looks.  So ! 

MARKHEIM:  (Sarcasticall\ ;  trying  to  recover  himself) 
Charitable?  (With  a  grating  laugh)  Oh,  I  would  hazard 
a  guess  now  that  you  are  a  most  charitable  man. 

DEALER:  You  came  to  buy.  Buy  then  and  begone.  I 
must — must  return  to  my  clocks. 

MARKHEIM:  (Realizing  that  the  time  has  come  for  ac 
tion)  Not  charitable?  Not  pious,  not  scrupulous,  unloving, 
tmbeloved,  a  hand  to  get  money,  a  safe  to  keep  it?  Is  that 
all?  Dear  God,  man,  is  that  all?  (Markheim  reels  a  little, 
shaken  by  passion) 

DEALER:  (Greatly  relieved)  Ah,  ha.  I  see — that  this 
is  not  a  love  match  of  yours  and — you  have  been  drinking 
the  lady's  health. 

MARKHEIM  :  (Playing  for  time,  and  toying  with  the 
glass  so  that  it  reflects  the  light  into  the  Dealer's  eyes  and 
disconcerts  him)  You  have  been  in  love.  Ah!  Tell  me 
about  it. 

DEALER:  /  in  love?  I  never  had  the  time,  nor  have  I 
the  time  to-day  for  nonsense.  Will  you  take  the  glass? 

MARKHEIM:    (Enjoying  his  discomfiture)    What  is  the 

67 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

hurry?  It  is  pleasant  to  stand  here  talking;  and  life  is  so 
short  and  insecure,  that  I  would  not  hurry  away  from  any 
pleasure;  no,  not  even  from  so  milk  a  one  as  this.  (The 
Dealer  begins  to  sense  something  sinister  in  the  air,  hastily 
shuts  the  case  and  moves  toward  the  door,  but  Markheim 
forestalls  him.  Though  the  Dealer  does  not  hide  his  shock 
at  the  sight  of  the  closed  door  he  evidently  nerves  himself 
to  get  rid  of  his  customer)  We  should  cling,  cling  to  what 
little  we  can  get,  like  a  man  at  a  cliff's  edge.  Every  second 
is  a  cliff,  if  you  think  upon  it — a  cliff  a  mile  high — high 
enough,  if  we  fall,  to  dash  us  out  of  every  feature  of  hu 
manity.  Therefore,  it  is  best  to  talk  pleasantly.  Let  us 
talk  of  each  other;  why  should  we  wear  this  mask?  Let 
us  be  confidential.  Who  knows,  we  might  be  friends.  (All 
the  while  the  hand  behind  him  is  stiffening  and  relaxing 
as  if  on  it  alone  depended  the  blow) 

DEALER  '•  I  have  one  word  to  say  to  you,  my  anxious 
friend.  Either  make  your  purchase  or  walk  out  of  my 
shop.  So ! 

MARKHEIM  :  True.  True.  Enough  fooling.  Show  me 
something  else.  (The  touch  of  pantomime  which  follows 
shows  both  on  the  watch  for  the  opportunity.  The  Dealer 
fusses  among  the  cases  keeping  his  face  carefully  and 
aiertly  turned  toivard  Markheim.  Once  as  he  turns  a  trifle, 
Markheim  makes  a  dash  and  raises  his  hand  and  then  a 
trembling  takes  possession  of  him  and  he  walks  part  way 
to  the  door  only  to  return  quickly,  still  determined.  The 
Dealer  looks  up  enquiringly  and  Markheim,  to  cover  his 
mistake,  sets  a  flare  to  the  incense  in  the  censor  beneath 

68 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

the  Buddha)     Well.     Well.     You  shall  pay   for  my  good 
incense 

MARKHEIM  :    But  surely. 

DEALER  :    Are  you  a  follower 


MARKHEIM:  No.  But  I  would  make  sure  that  my  gift 
would  be  appreciated.  (As  the  Dealer  stoops,  he  moves 
nearer) 

DEALER:  Well.  Well.  Let  us  finish  our  business.  Ah, 
now  surely  I  am  successful,  this  time,  see — (He  looks  up 
a  moment,  his  hands  busy  in  the  case) 

MARKHEIM:  Ah  yes.  One  moment — (He  stoops  again 
to  lift  it  gingerly  from  the  case) 

(But  Markhcim  hesitates  no  longer.  He  draws  a  little 
nearer  shaking  in  ever\  limb,  fills  his  lungs,  his  arm  stiffens, 
body  and  face  become  a  study  in  resolve,  fascination  and 
physical  repulsion.  Through  a  haggard  lift  of  his  upper 
lip  his  teeth  sJiozv  clenched.  His  hand  rises  and  as  quickl\ 
falls  part  wa\  behind  him.  The  Dealer  glances  up) 

DEALER:  Voila.  I  have  succeeded.  Here  is  what  you 

wish (And  snddenlv  Markheim  faces  the  up  turned 

face,  finding  it  easier  that  way,  and — the  long  skewer-like 
dagger  flashes  and  falls  hawk-like  upon  his  victim.  The 
Dealer  struggles  like  a  hen,  striking  his  temple  on  the  shelf 
and  then  thuds  heavily  to  the  floor  in  a  heap. 

The  Pantomime  begins: 

Markheim  slinks  back,  shuddering.  The  silence  can  be 
felt,  the  ticking  of  the  clocks  seems  to  gain  in  intensity. 
Pie  starts.  There  is  the  pit,  patter  of  a  child's  footsteps  on 

69 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

the  pavement.  Markheim  begins  to  be  afraid.  The  candle 
quivers  as  in  a  draught,  causing  the  long  shadows  to  heave 
over  the  room  and  the  faces  of  the  gods  to  quiver  and  blur. 
The  blots  of  shadow  expand  and  shrink  as  if  breathing.  The 
inner  door  is  ajar  and  from  it  come  strange  creaking 
sounds.  Markheim  drags  back  his  shrinking  gaze  to  his 
victim.  Is  there  not  something  paltry  in  it  after  all?  He 
moves  and  the  tassel  of  a  Chinese  gong  raps  him  smartly 
on  the  shoulder.  He  starts  and  looks  around  furtively. 
It  is  like  the  hand  of  the  constable.  Markheim  is  afraid. 
Suddenly  the  clocks  all  begin  striking,  some  fast,  some 
slow,  one  ringing  on  its  treble  notes  the  preludes  of  a 
waltz.  It  is  the  first  quarter.  He  moves  quickly  toivard 
the  candle.  Time  flies.  He  must  ransack  the  house  and 
get  away.  He  tries  the  desk.  Gathers  up  the  feiv  miser 
able  coins  it  contains  and  looks  at  them  reflectively.  Was 
it  for  this?  No.  This  is  but  a  taste  of  the  treasure  hidden 
somewhere.  He  turns  in  other  directions,  candle  in  hand, 
and  every  moment  brings  him  face  to  face  with  his  own 
image  in  a  mirror.  The  place  is  full  of  them,  and  from  all 
corners  his  own  nerveracked  face  glares  back  at  him.  He 
shrinks  back,  terribly  shaken.  Now  and  then  he  snatches 
up  something — a  strange  curio,  something  bizarre,  his  very 
bulky  selection  showing  the  over-balanced  condition  of  hi? 
usually  clear-sighted  mind.  The  eyes  of  the  Buddha  blink 
suddenly  as  if  alive.  A  goblet  in  his  hand  crashes  to  the 
floor.  He  makes  a  quick  movement  toward  the  cabinet, 
anxious  to  be  gone.  Suddenly  with  a  shrinking  gesture  he 
nerves  himself  to  touch  his  victim.  He  must  have  the  keys. 
In  Markheim's  face  is  not  remorse — only  fear,  unreason 
ing,  gripping,  superstitious  fear.  His  nerves  are  jerking 

70 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

automatically.  He  pauses  listening.  There  is  a  distant 
murmur  as  of  many  people  saying  a  mass.  Silence.  Tick, 
tick.  He  gets  up.  It  is  getting  on  his  nerves  and  in  a 
frantic  moment  he  stops  the  big  clock.  The  sudden  cessa 
tion  is  so  marked  lie  shrinks  from  it  and  then  fran- 
ticall\  sets  it  going  again.  He  has  recalled  the  re 
mark  of  the  Dealer  about  his  clocks.  Once  again  he 
turns  upon  his  victim.  The  Dealer  lies  like  a  thing  of 
sawdust.  Markheim  grips  him  distastefully.  He  is  light 
and  supple  in  his  hands.  There  is  a  momentary  glimpse 
of  the  ghastly  face  smeared  with  blood,  then  a  quick  jingle 
as  he  falls  in  a  heap.  Markheim  darts  back.  He  has  the 
keys.  Suddenly  there  is  a  knocking  at  the  outer  door. 
Someone  is  hammering,  clamoring  to  get  in.  He  pauses 
petrified  with  horror.  It's  the  Dealer's  expected  friend) 

VOICE  WITHOUT  :  Silverthorne !  I  say,  Silverthorne. 
(Rap,  rap,  rap,  quick  and  impatient  as  with  some  hob 
nobbed  cudgel.  A  jolly  old  gentleman  is  visible  at  the  door. 
Markheim  shrinks  back  into  the  sJiadows,  quivering  in 
(Tt-'er\  limb)  Merry  Christmas,  Silverpricks.  Let  me  in. 
Let  me  in.  I'm  coming  in.  See  if  I  don't.  You're  mad 
because  I'm  late,  but  I'm  still  in  time  to  hear  the  Clocks 

Oh,  yes,  I  am.     I'm (silence)     I'm  coming"  to  the  other 

door.  (The  footsteps  retire  to  the  other  door  past  the 
ivindow.  In  a  sudden  wild  panic  Markheim  snatches  the 
candle  and  charges  up  the  stairs.  As  the  light  recedes  from 
the  lower  room  and  only  the  panting  of  the  clocks  is  heard,, 
now  and  then,  come  odd  creakings  and  ghostly  murmur- 
ings  as  if  something  were  moving  in  the  old  shop.  From 
now  on  the  light  begins  to  appear  in  the  upper  room,  first 
as  a  shadoiv  in  the  hall  where  its  wavering  and  flickering 

71 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

and  drunken  shadows  mark  Markheim's  trembling  and 
hurried  progress,  and  forming  as  he  rises  a  long  bar  into 
the  room  through  the  open  part  of  the  door  which  forms 
with  the  sunbeam  a  palid  cross  in  the  shadow.  Markheim 
staggers  in  above.  Suddenly  the  blows  of  the  old  gentle 
man  are  heard  on  the  door  which  opens  from  the  stairway 
kail) 

VOICE)  OF  THE  JOVIAL  GENTIUM  AN  :  (In  evident  disap 
pointment}  Good  old  Silverpricks.  You  know  I  always 
come  on  Christmas.  I'm  coming  in.  Indeed  I  am.  (In 
an  excess  of  panic,  Markheim  flings  to  the  door  and  puts 
his  body  against  it.  A  moment  passes,  Markheim  lifts  his 
head.  The  gentleman  has  evidently  gone  away.  Suddenly 
Markheim  shrinks  back  from  the  closed  door,  new  terror 
in  his  face.  On  the  back  of  the  door  is  a  mirror.  Once 
again  Markheim's  mirrored  face  glares  back  the  horror  in 
his  own.  Tramp,  tramp,  something  is  heard  coming  up 
the  stairs.  Markheim  is  terror  stricken.  His  eyes  remain 
fixed  on  the  mirrored  face,  which  the  audience  cannot  quite 
see.  Suddenly  high  up  in  the  mirror,  a  head  is  pushed 
through  at  about  the  height  of  a  knocker,  a  whimsical 
kindly  wlzzened  -face  'which  might  be  that  of  some  age  old 
gnome,  or  some  old  fashioned  child  with  shaggy  hair,  looks 
out  at  Markheim}  The  Dialogue  begins: 

MARKHEIM:  Who — who  are  you?  (Conscience  with 
draws  and  then  suddenly  comes  through  the  picture,  a 
wavering  uncertain  figure) 

CONSCIENCE:    Don't  you  know? 

MARKHEIM:    What — what   do  you  want?     (Conscience 

12 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

enters  through  the  mirror,  a  slight  dark  figure  illumined 
only  when  by  chance  he  steps  into  the  sunbeam,  when  his 
Pierrot-like  costume  save  for  a  long  cloak  changes  to  pure 
gold.  Seen  through  a  quivering  vapour  even  his  outline 
is  a  little  uncertain — like  something  seen  through  water. 
He  suggests  in  this  respect  the  appearance  of  the  Buddhas 
after  the  murder) 

CONSCIENCE:  You  are  looking  for  the  money.  (Mark- 
heim  is  speechless)  I  must  warn  you.  The  Maidie  has 
left  her  mother  earlier  than  usual.  It  was  not  a  happy 
Christmas.  And  she  will  soon  be  here.  If  you,  Mr.  Mark- 
heim,  be  found  in  this  house,  I  need  not  describe  to  you 
the  consequences. 

MARKHEIM  :    You — you  know  me — by  name? 

CONSCIENCE  :  For  many  years  I  have  known  you,  Mark- 
heim,  and  have  often  wanted  to  help  you. 

MARKHEIM:    Are — are  you  the  Evil  One? 

CONSCIENCE  :  Does  it  matter  ?  I  am  here  to  render  you 
a  service.  What  matter  who  I  am? 

MARKHEIM:  What  matter?  Be  helped  by  you?  Never! 
Not  by  you !  You — you  do  not  know  me  if  you  think  so. 

CONSCIENCE:    Markheim,  I  know  you  to  the  soul. 

MARKHEIM  :  It  is  impossible.  Who  can?  I  am  a  slander 
on  myself.  I  am  not  what  the  life  I  have  lived  would  lead 
you  to  think  me.  No  man  is.  We  are  all  better  than  the 
disguise  that  grows  about  and  stifles  us.  You  see  men 
dragged  away  like  one  whom  bravos  have  seized  and  muf- 

73 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

fled  in  a  cloak.  If  we  could  do  as  we  would,  if  you  could 
see  our  real  faces,  they  would  be  altogether  different. 
They  would  shine  out  like  heroes  and  saints.  I  am  worse 
than  most,  it  is  true,  but  my  excuse  is  known  to  me  and 
God.  Had  I  the  time  I  could  make  you  understand. 

CONSCIENCE:   Me! 

MARKHEIM  :  (With  passionate  fury)  I  have  been  born 
and  I  have  lived  in  a  land  of  giants;  giants  have  dragged 
me  by  the  wrists  since  I  was  born  out  of  my  mother — the 
giants  of  circumstance.  Can't  you  see  that  I  am  that  thing 
which  must  be  as  common  as  humanity  itself — the  unwil 
ling  sinner  and — and  you  would  judge  me  by  my  acts. 
(Markheim  buries  his  face  in  his  hands) 

CONSCIENCE:  (Breezily)  Very  feelingly  expressed.  But 
—I  have  no  interest  in  argument.  I  care  only  that  people 

should  walk  in  the  right  direction.     But Time  flies;  the 

servant  delays,  every  moment  moves  nearer,  and  remember, 
it  is  as  if  the  gallows  itself  was  striding  towards  you 
through  the  Christmas  streets.  See,  I  will  help  you.  Here 
is  the  treasure.  You  would  never  find  it  alone.  (And 
suddenly  with  a  leap  Conscience  produces  a  key  and  fitting 
it  into  a  hole  in  the  wall  slings  open  a  secret  closet.  The 
treasure  pours  in  a  magnificent  brilliant  stream  on  the  floor. 
Gold,  silver,  coins  of  every  denomination,  tiaras  of  dia 
monds  and  garlanded  chains  of  burning  gems  of  every 
color  and  lustre.  Markheim  heaves  a  great  sigh  of  intense 
desire  and  then  drops  upon  the  floor  greedily  gathering 
the  treasure.  At  this  moment  from  downstairs  the  clocks 
strike  the  quarter  hour  and  a  soft  single  peal  of  chimes 
breaks  the  silence) 

74 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

MARKHEIM  :  (After  a  pause)  The  price?  What  must 
I  pay  you  for  this? 

CONSCIENCE:  Pay  me?  Nothing.  It  is  a  gift.  A 
Christmas  gift. 

MARKHEIM  :  (Bitterly)  Nothing  were  more  expensive. 
(Suddenly  drawing  back)  No.  I  cannot  take  it.  I  will 
take  nothing  from  you.  You  cannot  understand  it  but — I 
will  not  deliberately  commit  myself  to  evil. 

CONSCIENCE  :  Why  as  for  that,  there — there  is  always  the 
eleventh  hour.  One  may  confess  then.  Take  it.  See 
riches  for  a  life  time.  Think!  Later  you  may  confess  and 
be  absolved.  Now  wealth,  happiness,  pleasure. 

MARKHEIM:  (With  intense  scorn)  And  you  believe  in 
that? 

CONSCIENCE:  Oh,  I  did  not  say  so.  But — I  came  but 
now  from  such  a  death  bed.  The  room  full  of  sincere 
mourners  listening  to  the  man's  last  words  and  when  I 
looked  into  that  face  which  had  been  set  as  a  flint  against 
mercy  I  found  it  smiling  with  hope.  I  am  not  a  hard 
master.  Try  me.  Accept  my  help. 

MARKHEIM  :  And  you  think  I  am  such  a  creature.  You 
think  I  would  sin  and  sin  and  sin  and  then  sneak  into 
heaven.  (Suddenly)  Is  it  because  you  find  me  red  handed 
in  sin  that  you  suggest  this  thing?  Has  my  one  crime  of 
murder  (He  shudders  visibly)  changed  my  whole  nature? 
Am  I  no  longer  capable  of  any  good  action? 

CONSCIENCE:    Murder  is  in  no  special  category.     For  me 

75 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

all  sins  are  murder  even  as  all  life  is  war.  I  live  for  evil 
but  for  me  it  consists  not  in  action  but  in  character.  The 
bad  man  is  dear  to  me,  not  the  bad  act  whose  fruits  if  we 
could  follow  them  hurtling  down  the  cataract  of  the  ages 
might  seem  more  blessed  than  those  of  the  rarest  virtues. 
(The  voice  rises  and  grows  melodious)  It  is  not  because 
you  have  killed  a  dealer,  that  I  offered  to  forward  your 
escape  but — because  you  are  Markheim. 

MARKHEIM  :  You  judge  me  well.  Let  me  tell  you.  This 
is  my  last  crime.  I  had  to  do  it.  But  in  the  doing,  I 
learned  many  things.  Poverty  drove  me  to  it.  I  didn't 
want  to  do  it.  But  where  a  man  cannot  get  honestly  he 
must  take.  Perhaps  I  was  weak,  weaker  than  others  might 
have  been,  but  the  weakness  is  my  character. 

CONSCIENCE:    (Sadly  and  lovingly)    You  are  Markheim. 

MARKHEIM:  I  wanted  pleasure.  I  thirsted  for  it.  Is 
that  wrong?  But  to-day  I  am  rich.  I  go  out  of  here  a 
master  of  poverty.  Now  it  is  my  slave.  I  am  free,  free 
lc  be  myself,  Markheim — Markheim  a  man  who  loves 
good,  whose  heart  thrills  at  homely  love  and  virtues ;  when 
I  was  a  child  I  sat  at  a  good  mother's  knee.  I  learned  of 
good  men;  I  had  tremendous  aspirations.  But  (with  a 
kind  of  a  sob)  Life  got  me,  and  held  me,  and  squeezed  me 
as  in  a  vise  and  I — I  had  to  have.  I  could  not  live  without 
having.  So — I  took.  But  now — now — I  understand.  And 
now,  I  shall  go  soberly.  (And  turning  to  the  treasure  he 
begins  to  load  it  into  his  pockets) 

CONSCIENCE:   And  this  money?    What  will  you  do  first? 

76 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

MARKHEIM  :  To-morrow,  I  shall  go  at  once  to  the  Ex 
change.  I  shall  make  it  double. 

CONSCIENCE:  Double?  But  have  you  not  lost  thousands 
there  already? 

MARKHEIM  :   Ah,  but  this — this  that  I  would  try — is  sure. 
CONSCIENCE:    No.     This  time  also  you  must  lose. 

MARKHEIM  :  But — I  do  not  throw  all.  I  keep  back  the 
half. 

CONSCIENCE  :  No.     Not  even  the  half.     That  also  will  go. 

MARKHEIM:  Well,  then  what  matter!  Say  it  is  lost. 
Say,  I  am  again  thrown  into  poverty.  Shall  it  master  me  ? 
Shall  Markheim  be  conquered?  Is  he  all  black?  Shall  the 
evil  side  forever  dominate  ?  No.  The  eood  in  me  is  there, 

o 

and  it  shall,  it  must  win.  My  heart  is  not  hardened.  I  am 
kind  to  the  poor.  And  it  still  glows  at  honest  laughter.  I 
have  a  happy  soul.  I  have  had  to-night  my  chance.  I 
played  and  I  lost,  but  poverty  shall  not  make  me  into  a 
thing  beyond  all  semblance  of  a  man. 

CONSCIENCE:  (Sloii'ly  and  solemnly,  his  figure  more  in 
distinct  than  ever}  For  six  and  thirty  years  you  have  lived 
in  this  world.  Through  many  changes  of  fortune  and 
varieties  of  humor  I  have  watched  you,  watched  you  stead 
ily  fall.  (During  this  speech  music  is  heard  in  the  chapel 
across  the  ic-ay  and  the  Largo  rises  like  a  prisoned  tiling 
straining,  beating,  to  be  free)  Fifteen  years  ago  you  would 
have  started  at  a  theft.  Three  years  ago  you  would  have 
blanched  at  murder.  Is  there  any  crime,  is  there  any 

77 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

cruelty  or  meanness  from  which  you  still  recoil?  Down 
ward,  downward  lies  your  way,  nothing-  but  death  can  stop 
you. 

MARKHEIM  :  (Rising  slowly,  the  treasure  dripping  un 
heeded  from  him)  It  is  true.  I  have  made  partnership 
with  evil.  And  yet — (Passionately)  Am  I  different  from 
others?  Do  not  all  suffer  and  tarnish  under  their  sur 
roundings?  Can  any  find  pure  air? 

CONSCIENCE:  Markheim,  I  would  ask  you  one  question. 
You  have  grown  in  all  things  more  lax,  possibly  your  life 
is  accountable  for  that.  Men  do.  But,  granting  it,  are 
you  in  any  one  particular,  however  trifling,  more  difficult 
t«  please  with  your  own  conduct? 

MARKHEIM  :  (Backing  toivard  the  wall  as  if  for  support) 
In  any  one?  No.  (Despairingly)  No.  I—  —I  have  gone 
down  in  all. 

CONSCIENCE:  Then  be  content.  Your  part  is  written. 
You  will  not  change.  Being  what  you  are,  Markheim, 
your  life  is  irrevocably  written  down.  (There  is  a  tense 
silence,  terrible  in  its  significance  to  Markheim  who  bows 
under  the  weight  of  the  accusation.  He  is  like  a  man  who 
has  braved  until  numbness  overtakes  him.)  You  had  better 
take  the  money.  It  is  time  to  be  gone. 

MARKHEIM:  (Pleadingly)  Have  I  no  chance  of  mercy? 
Is  there  not  grace?  I — I  have  heard  of  it? 

CONSCIENCE:  (After  a  pause)  Have  you  not  tried  it? 
Two  or  three  years  ago  did  I  not  see  you  where  they  ex- 

78 


THE     MORNINGSIDB     PLAYS 

horted  to  save  sinners  and  was  not  your  voice  the  loudest 
when  they  sang  hymns? 

MARKHEIM  :  Yes.  I  see.  I  understand.  I  thank  you 
from  my  soul.  My  eyes  are  opened.  I  behold  myself  at 
last  as  I  am.  I  am  what  I  am.  My  part  is  indeed  irre 
vocably  written  down.  I  see  what  I  must  do.  (Suddenly 
the  sharp  note  of  the  door  be!!  rings  through  the  house) 

CONSCIENCE:  (In  panic  haste)  The  Maidie!  She  has 
returned!  There  is  only  one  thing  to  do.  (The  Largo 
has  fallen  until  it  can  barely  be  heard)  Tell  her,  you  must 
tell  her,  her  master  is  ill.  Let  her  in  with  an  assured  but 
easy  countenance.  Don't  smile.  Don't  overact.  You  can 
succeed.  Once  she  is  within  the  same  dexterity  that  har- 
already  rid  you  of  the  Dealer  will  do  it.  No  danger  then 
remains  in  your  path. 

MARKHEIM:  (Thoughtfully)  It  is  possible?  (With  a 
strange  eagerness,  a  tremendous  resolve,  Markheim  grip 
ping  the  dagger  with  which  he  has  killed  the  Dealer,  the 
treasure  spilling  unheeded  from  his  gorging  pockets,  flings 
open  the  door  and  descends.  Conscience  remains,  waiting, 
and  for  a  moment  his  wavering  features  seem  to  steady  and 
there  is  visible  a  woman's  face  of  infinite  compassion. 
Markheim  reappears  below  and  though  he  brings  no  light, 
light  enters  wnth  him  and  illumines  the  shop.  At  the  last 
moment  he  pauses  as  if  bracing  himself  for  some  great  act. 
The  knock  of  the  Maidie  sounds  impatiently  from  without) 

VOICE  OE  THE  MAIDIE:  (Without)  O  please,  please.  Sir, 
let  me  in.  I — I  will — I  will  never  be  late  again.  Indeed 
I  will  not.  Before  the  little  mother  I  say  it.  (The  Largo 

79 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

swells  up  triumphantly  and  drops  again.  Markheim  flings 
wide  the  door.  The  Maidie  appears  on  the  threshold  and 
hesitates  at  sight  of  him,  she  is  out  of  breath  and  tearful. 
Markheim's  arm  is  ready.  His  eye  watches  his  oppor 
tunity) 

MARKHEIM  :    Come  in. 

MAIDIE:  (Still  hesitating)  Is — Is  he  very  angry?  Iran 
all  the  way.  Indeed  I  did.  (She  still  hesitates) 

MARKHEIM:  He  is  not  angry.  Come  in.  (The  Maidie 
advances  a  little  fearfully.  Markheim  stretches  out  his 
left  arm  and  quickly  closes  the  door) 

MAIDIE:  It  is  all  so  still.  Oh  he  must  be  very  angry. 
(Markheim's  arm  is  ready.  He  moves  quickly  forward. 
She  suddenly  clutches  him  and  gases  into  his  face)  I  feel 
as  if  something  terrible  were  going  to  happen.  I — I  am 
afraid.  (Markheim's  arm  flies  up  with  the  dagger  but 
pauses  in  mid-air.  The  dagger  falls  clattering  to  the  floor. 
The  Maidie  springs  back — wonder  in  her  face  and  a  dawn 
ing  fear) 

MARKHEIM  :  (Flinging  wide  the  door.  His  whole  body 
undergoing  a  quick  revulsion)  You — You  had  better  go 
for  the  police.  I — I  have  killed  your  master.  (For  an 
instant  the  Maidie  gazes  at  him  horror,  grozving  in  her  face; 
then  with  a  sudden  movement  she  turns  in  full  flight.  Left 
alone  Markheim  with  folded  arms  awaits  what  is  coming. 
Running  feet  sound  down  the  street.  The  Largo  rises 
triumphant,  and  suddenly  like  a  human  applause,  the  clocks 
rmg  out  their  chimes  and  carols.  Solemnly  at  the  end 
twelve  long  strokes  ring  out  and  in  the  moment  of  pause 
which  follows,  the 

CURTAIN  DESCENDS 

80 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  FREE 

A  Comedy 

By  ELME^L.  ^EIZENSTEIN 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  FREE 

Original  Cast  appearing  in  the  first  production  at  the 
Comedy  Theatre,  New  York,  April  22,  1917 

CHARACTERES 

JOHN  CALVIN  BURKE: PENDLETON  KING 

FEXICIA  HUMANS  BURKE: AUCTHEA  LUCE: 

ROBERT  INGERSOLL  BURKE: MILTON  WEINHANDLER 

GIVNEVIEVE  SWEET  .  ..DOROTHY  NICHOLS 


The  Home  of  the  Free 

SCENE:  Living  room  in  the  home  of  the  Burkes.  At 
the  rise  of  the  curtain,  Mrs.  Burke  is  discovered  seated  at 
the  table,  industriously  darning  socks  and  humming  "The 
Rosary"  in  a  high  falsetto.  Robert  is  lounging  in  an  arm 
chair,  reading  the  "Masses."  From  time  to  time  he  yawns 
audibly,  but,  after  each  yawn,  he  shakes  himself  angrily  and 
glues  his  eyes  to  the  page. 

ROBERT:    (Suddenly  putting  down  the  magazine)  Mother. 

MRS.  BURKE:    Yes  dear? 

ROBERT:    I'm  expecting-  Genevieve  presently. 

MRS.  BURKE:    (Interested)  Oh,  how  lovely! 

ROBERT:  (Annoyed)  I  wish,  mother,  that  you  would 
overcome  your  habit  of  making  inappropriate  and  irre 
levant  ejaculations. 

MRS.  BURKE:    (Contritely)  I'll  try,  dear. 

ROBERT  :  She's  stopping  here  on  her  way  home.  I  told 
her  to  bring  me  something  to  read  from  the  library  and — 

MRS.  BURKE  :  And  I  haven't  a  thing  in  the  house  to  offer 
her! 

83 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

ROBERT:  Why  do  you  always  find  it  necessary  to  evince 
your  affection  for  people  by  stimulating  their  gastric  juices? 

MRS.  BURKE:    But,  Robert  dear— 

ROBERT:  (Interrupting  her)  What  I  wanted  to  say  is, 
that  as  Genevieve  can't  stay  very  long  and  as  there's  some 
thing  I  want  to  talk  with  her  about,  I  wish  you'd  clear  out 
as  soon  as  she  comes. 

MRS.  BURKE:    But  I  can't  very  well 

ROBERT:  Yes,  you  can.  All  the  members  of  Genevieve's 
family  are  in  perfect  health ;  the  weather  is  mild  and  prom 
ises  to  continue  so ;  she  bought  her  new  hat  at  Madame 
Dupont's  and  they  haven't  succeeded  yet  in  getting  a  cook. 

MRS.  BURKE:  (Anxiously)  What  are  you  going  to  talk 
to  her  about,  dear? 

ROBERT:    (In  utter  amazement)    Why,  what  a  question! 

MRS.  BURKE:   I  know  I  shouldn't  ask.     Still 

ROBERT:   Still  what? 

MRS.  BURKE  :  I  can't  help  feeling  that  it's  not  quite  right 
for  you  to  talk  to  Genevieve  about  things  that  daren't  be 
discussed  in  my  presence. 

ROBERT:  Daren't?  It  isn't  a  question  of  daren't.  It's  a 
question  of  psychology. 

MRS.  BURKE:    (Dubiously)    Oh! 

ROBERT:  I  realize  that  owing  partly  to  inherited  char 
acteristics  and  partly  to  your  faulty  education— 

84 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 
MRS.  BURKE:    (Sighing)    Yes;  I  know  dear. 

ROBERT  :  Oh,  it  isn't  your  fault.  You  were  never  taught 
the  meaning  of  liberty. 

MRS.  BURKE:  I'm  afraid  you're  right,  dear.  I've  tried 
so  hard  to  learn,  but  I  was  brought  up  with  the  idea  that 
duty  is  the  most  important  thing  in  life. 

ROBERT  :    Oh,  duty !     I  hate  that  word ! 
MRS.  BURKE:    I'm  so  sorry  dear. 
ROBERT:    Oh,  I'm  not  blaming  you. 
MRS.  BURKE:    Thank  you,  dear. 

ROBERT  :  But  the  fact  remains  that  you  are  a  little — a 
little — well,  let  us  say,  old-fashioned.  Consequently,  there 
are  certain  topics  which  I  refrain  from  discussing  in  your 
presence,  because  I  understand  that  your  somewhat  unfor 
tunate  hereditary  and  environmental  background  has  ren 
dered  you  incapable  of  agreeing  with  me. 

MRS.  BURKE  :  That's  sweet  and  dear  of  you,  Robert. 
Still,  Genevieve  is  a  young  girl 

ROBERT:  (Proudly)  Genevieve  is  a  New  Woman.  And 
it  is  I  who  have  made  her  a  New  Woman. 

MRS.  BURKE:  Yes,  that's  just  it.  It's  because  she's  so 
very  new.  If  she  were  a  little  older 

ROBERT  :  I  can't  listen  to  any  more  of  this,  mother.  I've 
been  very  patient  with  you,  but,  really,  these  objections  are 
an  unwarranted  intrusion  upon  my  liberty.  As  father  says, 

85 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

this  household  is  founded  upon  the  principle  of  unqualified 
freedom — freedom  of  thought,  freedom  of  speech  and 
freedom  of  conduct. 

MRS.  BURKE::  I  know,  dear,  and  I  try  to  live  up  to  it. 
But,  sometimes,  it  makes  it  so  difficult  for  one  to  say  and 
do  what  one  would  like  to. 

ROBERT:  (Magnanimously)  Well,  we'll  say  no  more 
about  it.  (He  goes  back  to  the  "Masses") 

MRS.  BURKE:    (After  a  pause)    Robert,  dear. 

ROBERT  :  (  Ostensibly  annoyed  but  secretly  pleased  by  the 
interruption)  Well? 

MRS.  BURKE:  Have  you  ever  thought  of  marrying  Gene- 
vieve  ? 

ROBERT:  (Very  much  provoked)  Marrying  Genevieve! 
What  put  that  into  your  head? 

MRS.  BURKE:  Nothing.  Except  that  I  think  she'd  make 
a  lovely  match  for  you. 

ROBERT:  (Disgusted)  Match!  You  talk  like  Queen  Vic 
toria  at  her  worst. 

MRS.  BURKE:  Well,  you  know  what  I  mean.  She's  a 
nice,  quiet  girl  and  you've  known  each  other  since  infancy. 
It's  almost  like  a  family  affair. 

ROBERT:  Do  I  understand  that  you're  deliberately  trying 
tc  inveigle  me  into  a  marriage  with  Genevieve? 

MRS.  BURKE  :  Of  course  not,  dear.  But  you  seem  so  fond 
of  each  other,  that  I  thought 

86 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

ROBERT:  What  has  that  to  do  with  it?  Do  you  think  I'd 
allow  myself  to  be  influenced  by  a  mere  sentimental  at 
tachment  ? 

MRS.  BURKE:  Not  altogether,  of  course.  You've  too 
much  common-sense  for  that.  But  Genevieve's  parents 
are  well-to-do,  and 

ROBERT:   Oh,  mother! 

MRS.  BURKE  :    I'm  sorry,  dear. 

ROBERT:  (Angrily}  This  is  really  inexcusable — your 
attempting  to  force  Genevieve  upon  me.  It's  an  unwar 
rantable  infringement  of  my  liberty. 

MRS.  BURKE:  Forgive  me,  Robert.  It  was  only  for  your 
good 

ROBERT:    (Pacing  the  room)    You've  upset  all  my  plans. 
MRS.  BURKE:    (Rather  alarmed)    What  plans? 
ROBERT  :    You've  endangered  my  whole  future. 
MRS.  BURKE:  (An.rioi(sly)  What  is  it,  dear? 

ROBERT:  (Facing  her)  The  reason  I  wanted  to  speak  to 
Genevieve  alone  this  afternoon  is  that  I  might  have  an 
opportunity  to  ask  her  to  marry  me. 

MRS.  BURKE:    (Greatly  relieved)    Oh,  I'm  so  glad! 

ROBERT  :    Now  I  shan't  do  it. 

MRS.  BURKE:    (Amazed)  Why  not? 

ROBERT  :  Because  I  feel  that  it  is  no  longer  a  free  choice. 
The  whole  thing  has  degenerated  into  a  romance. 

87 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

MRS.  BURKE  :  Nonsense,  Robert ;  no  one  would  ever 
accuse  you  of  being  romantic. 

ROBERT:    (Brightening  somewhat)    You  think  not? 

MRS.  BURKE  :  I'm  sure  of  it.  Just  you  go  on  and  propose 
to  Genevieve  without  paying  the  slightest  attention  to  my 
wishes  in  the  matter. 

ROBERT:  I'll  think  it  over.  You  have  given  me  a  rude 
blow.  You  have  forced  me  to  the  conclusion  that  domestic 
life  is  incompatible  with  the  principle  of  freedom.  (Shaking 
his  head  gravely}  Yes,  I'm  afraid  that  the  family  must  go. 

MRS.  BURKE:  (Gently  reproachful)  I've  promised  to  go, 
clear,  as  soon  as  Genevieve  arrives. 

ROBERT:  (Pityingly)  Poor  mother,  I'm  afraid  we  shall 
never  make  a  new  woman  of  you.  (The  door  bell  rings) 
There's  Genevieve. 

MRS.  BURKE:  I'll  just  pass  the  time  of  day  and  then  I'll 
slip  out. 

ROBERT:  (Generously)  Very  well.  (Genevieve  enters 
from  the  street,  carrying  several  books.  She  is  about 
twenty  and  looks  like  the  kind  of  girl  who  reads  Henry 
James  and  likes  him) 

GENEVIEVE:   Good  afternoon. 

MRS.  BURKE:  (Going  to  her)  Why,  my  dear!  I'm  so 
glad  to  see  you.  (She  goes  impulsively  to  Genevieve  and 
is  about  to  kiss  her,  then  recollects  herself)  Oh,  excuse  me, 
dear!  I  forgot!  Let's  shake  hands,  then.  (She  extends 
her  hand) 

88 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

GENEVIEVE:  No,  I've  decided  to  omit  hand-shaking,  too. 
I  read  yesterday  that  the  bubonic  plague  can  be  communi 
cated  by  mere  contact. 

MRS.  BURKE:   But  I  haven't  the  bubonic  plague! 
GENEVIEVE:    How  do  you  know? 

MRS.  BURKE:    (Crushed)    Well,  really 

GENEVIEVE:    Hello,  Robert. 

ROBERT  :    Did  you  get  me  something  to  read  ? 

GENEVIEVE:  Yes.  (She  hands  him  a  book)  I've  just 
finished  it. 

ROBERT  :    (Looks  at  the  book  and  grunts)    Is  it  any  good? 

GENEVIEVE:  (Enthusiastically)  It's  charming!  I  en 
joyed  every  word  of  it. 

MRS.  BURKE:    What  is  it,  dear? 

GENEVIEVE:    "Survivals  of  Cannabilism  in  Tasmania." 

MRS.  BURKE:    (Resignedly)    Oh! 

GENEVIEVE:  The  author  describes  among  other  things 
how  he  was  captured  and  almost  cooked  before  his  party 
rescued  him. 

MRS.  BURKE:    (Delighted)  Now  I  understand! 
GENEVIEVE:    Understand  what? 

MRS.  BURKE  :  What  Mr.  Burke  means  by  half-baked 
authors.  I  never  had  the  courage  to  ask  him,  because  I 

89 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

don't  like  to  show  my  ignorance.  (Genevieve  and  Robert 
look  at  each  other  pityingly)  Well,  Genevieve  dear,  I  hope 
that  all  your  family 

ROBERT:    (Warningly)    Mother! 

MRS.  BURKE  :  Oh,  yes,  I  forgot !  You  really  must  excuse 
me,  dear.  I've — I've  dozens  of  socks  to  darn.  (Hastily) 
Most  of  them  are  Mr.  Burke's.  Robert  is  very  easy  on 
clothes.  (Seeing  that  Robert  is  beginning  to  fidget)  Well, 
I  really  must  go.  You'll  excuse  me,  won't  you? 

GENEVIEVE :    Certainly. 

MRS.  BURKE  :    That's  a  lovely  hat.     Where  did  you 

(Rather  pettishly  as  she  remembers)  Oh  yes,  of  course. 
This  freedom  is  getting  stricter  all  the  time.  (She  goes 
out  leaving  the  socks  behind) 

GENEVIEVE:  I  hope  you  haven't  been  scolding  your 
mother  again,  Robert.  I  find  her  delightful — a  little  old- 
fashioned,  but  so  interesting.  I'm  writing  her  up  for  my 
sociological  seminar.  I'm  demonstrating  that  her  type  oc 
cupies  relatively  the  same  place  in  the  evolution  of  the 
Woman  Movement  that  the  Neanderthal  man  occupies  in 
the  evolution  of  the  human  race.  Original,  isn't  it? 

ROBERT:    (Abstractedly)    Very. 

GENEVIEVE:  (Annoyed  by  his  indifference)  You  don't 
seem  at  all  interested. 

ROBERT :  ( With  determination)  Genevieve,  there's  some 
thing  I  want  to  ask  you — 

GENEVIEVE:    (Interested  at  once)    Yes. 

90 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

ROBERT:  Something  I've  been  wanting  to  ask  you  for  a 
long  time.  (He  stops) 

GENEviEvE:    (After  a  pause)    Well — what  is  it,  Robert? 

ROBERT  :    Can't  you  guess  ? 

GENEviEvE :    Why  no ! — I  haven't  the  slightest  idea. 

ROBERT:  Genevieve  will  you — will  you  be  the  mother  of 
my  children? 

GENEviEvE:   (Hastily)  Do  you  mean  will  I  marry  you? 

ROBERT:  (Rather  coldly)  If  you  want  to  put  it  that  way. 
We  shall  go  through  whatever  idle  legal  ceremony  you  may 
desire.  /  attach  no  importance  to  the  law 

GENEviEvE:  (Quickly,  in  the  manner  of  a  school-girl  who 
knows  the  right  answer)  That's  from  Shaw,  isn't  it? 

ROBERT:  (Annoyed)  Well,  you  needn't  snap  me  up  like 
that. 

GENEVIEVE:    When  shall  we  be  married? 
ROBERT  :    There's  no  hurry  about  that. 

GExEviEvE :  Xo,  of  course  not ;  three  or  four  weeks  from 
now  will  be  soon  enough.  This  is  all  so  unexpected.  Oh, 
you  dear  boy!  (She  goes  to  him  impulsively  and  is  about 
to  kiss  him) 

ROBERT:  (Stopping  her)  Genevieve!  Remember  what 
you  told  me  about  the  transmission  of  pulmonary  diseases. 

GEXEVIEVE:  (Dejectedly)  Yes,  of  course!  How  stupid 
of  me  to  have  forgotten.  (She  walks  awa\'  from  him) 

91 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

ROBERT:  -(Rather  disappointed)  On  the  other  hand,  we 
must  recognize  the  compelling  voice  of  the  Life  Force. 

GENEVIEVE:  (Brightening)  Oh,  certainly.  We  can't 
ignore  the  Life  Force. 

ROBERT  :  The  Life  Force,  it  seems  to  me,  must  transcend 
everything. 

GENEViEvE  :   I  think  so,  too. 

ROBERT  :    Even  the  laws  of  hygiene,  do  you  think  ? 

GENEVIEVE:  (With  conviction)  Yes,  even  the  laws  of 
hygiene. 

ROBERT:  Well,  then — (He  kisses  her  several  times. 
They  both  seem  to  enjoy  it) 

ROBERT:  (Drawing  away  at  length)  We  mustn't  become 
sentimental,  Genevieve. 

GENEViEvE:    There's  no  danger  of  that. 

ROBERT  :  We  mustn't  descend  to  mere  vulgar  love-making. 

GENEVIEVE:   You  do  love  me,  don't  you? 

ROBERT:    I  can't  say  that  I  do — 

GENEVIEVE:    (Alarmed)    Robert! 

ROBERT:  I  believe  that  love  is  a  fiction  created  by  the 
second-rate  poets  of  the  nineteenth  century.  I  believe  that 
Tennyson 

GENEviEvE:    But,  Robert 


ROBERT  :   I  am  a  blind  tool  in  the  grip  of  the  Life  Force. 

92 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

The  Life  Force  has  paralyzed  my  will.     I  am  its  slave.     I 
do  whatever  it  impels  me  to.     (He  kisses  her) 

GENEviEVE:  (Relieved)  Oh,  that's  all  right.  (An  auto 
mobile  is  heard  coming  to  a  stop) 

ROBERT  :    That's  father. 

GENEviEVE  :  I  suppose — I  suppose  you're  going  to  tell 
him. 

ROBERT  :   Perhaps. 

GENEviEVE :    He  won't  object,  will  he? 

ROBERT  :  Object !  I  should  like  to  see  him  try !  But 
there's  no  danger  of  father's  objecting.  He's  all  for  free 
dom.  Are  you  going  to  tell  your  parents. 

GEXEVIEVE:  Oh,  I've  told  them  already.  (Hastily)  That 
is — of  course,  I'll  tell  them !  I  must  go  now.  It's  late. 

ROBERT:  There's  just  one  point.  I  don't  want  to  be  con 
sulted  about — about  whatever  arrangements  are  to  be  made. 
I  regard  my  consent  to  any  ceremony  at  all  as  a  sufficient 
surrender  of  my  liberty  to  relieve  me  from  the  annoyance 
of  planning  the  details. 

GEXEVIEVE:  (Sighing)  Very  well.  I  suppose  I'll  have 
to  do  it  then.  Let  me  see,  there  was  something  I  wanted 
to  ask  you.  Oh  yes,  I  remember  now.  (She  hesitates) 

ROBERT:   What  is  it? 

GENEviEVE :    You  said  something  about — about  children. 

ROBERT:   Of  course. 

93 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

GENEVIEVE  :  Had  you  thought  of  them  at  all — in  the  way 
of  numbers. 

ROBERT  :   Well,  I  should  say  five. 
GENEviEvE:    Five? 
ROBERT  :   As  a  maximum. 

GENEviEvE :  Oh !  Yes,  five  will  be  all  right  as  a  maximum. 
Well,  I  must  really  go.  (Expectantly}  Good-bye. 

ROBERT:  (Kissing  her)  We  mustn't  make  a  practise  of 
this  sort  of  thing. 

GENEviEvE:  (Kissing  him)  Certainly  not.  (Burke 
enters) 

BURKE:  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon!  (He  is  about  to  with 
draw) 

GENEviEvE:  (Stopping  him)  I'm  just  going.  Good 
afternoon. 

BURKE:  Good  afternoon,  my  dear.  (He  looks  after  her 
thoughtfully) 

ROBERT:  (Bursting  out)  Well,  father,  I'd  like  to  know 
what  you  mean  by  tearing  in  here  like  that. 

BURKE:  I'm  very  sorry.  I  didn't  know  there  was  any 
one  here.  (He  is  plainly  disturbed  about  something) 

ROBERT  :  Life  in  this  house  is  becoming  intolerable.  One 
can't  have  a  moment  to  oneself.  Why,  I'd  have  more  pri 
vacy  in  state's  prison. 

BURKE:    I  shall  not  attempt  to  defend  myself  by  the  ob- 

94 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 


vious  means  of  pointing  out  my  inalienable  right  as  a  free 
and  responsible  agent  to  enter  and  leave  this  room  when 
and  how  I  please  - 

ROBERT  :    Oh,  well  if  you're  going  to  be  tyrannical  about 


BURKE  :   As  I  said,  I  shall  not  discuss  the  point  because  — 
ROBERT  :    But  I  have  the  right  to  have  it  discussed. 

BURKE  :  And  I  have  the  right  to  refrain  from  discussing 
it.  There  is  - 

ROBERT  :    This  is  nothing  short  of  despotism. 

BURKE:  Will  you  do  me  the  kindness  of  holding  your 
tongue  for  a  moment?  I've  a  matter  of  importance  to  talk 
to  you  about. 

ROBERT  :  Don't  tell  me  to  hold  my  tongue  !  There's  no 
thing  of  more  importance  than  my  liberty.  Herod! 

BURKE:    (Getting  angry)    Keep  quiet  ! 

ROBERT  :    Nero  ! 

BURKE:    (Bellowing]  Shut  up  ! 

ROBERT:    Shut  up  yourself  !     Machievelli  ! 

BURKE:   (Inarticulate  with  rage)    I'll  —  I'll— 

ROBERT:  Bismarck!  Napoleon!  Henry  the  Eighth! 
Ivan  the  Terrible!  Northcliffe  !  Rockefeller! 

BURKE:  (Capitulating)  Well,  well,  all  right.  Go  on  and 
say  what  you  have  to  say  and  when  you've  finished  give  me 
a  chance. 

95 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

ROBERT  :  I  have  nothing  to  say.  But  I  insist  upon  my 
right  to  freedom  of  speech. 

BURKE  :  I  concede  you  that  right.    Is  there  anything  else  ? 

ROBERT  :  Nothing.  And  now  that  you  have  conceded  my 
right,  I  am  willing  to  permit  you  to  exercise  yours.  Pro 
ceed. 

BURKE:  Thank  you.  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  Gene- 
vieve. 

ROBERT:    (Displeased)    Genevieve? 

BURKE:  (After  a  moment's  hesitation)  Yes.  I  thought 
that  as  I  came  in  I  saw  you  kissing  Genevieve.  (He  stops) 

ROBERT  :    Well  ? 
BURKE:    Did  I? 

ROBERT  :  That  is  a  question  which  it  is  impossible  for  me 
to  answer. 

BURKE:    What  do  you  mean? 

ROBERT  :  How  do  I  know  whether  or  not  you  saw  me 
kissing  Genevieve? 

BURKE:    Well,  were  you  kissing  her? 

ROBERT:  I  decline  either  to  challenge  or  to  corroborate 
the  testimony  of  your  senses. 

BURKE:  Robert,  I  want  to  know  whether  there  is  any 
thing  between  you  and  Genevieve. 

ROBERT  :    By  what  right  do  you  ask  that  question  ? 

96 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

BURKE:    By  no  right;  but 

ROBERT:  Very  well.  As  a  mere  matter  of  courtesy,  then, 
I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  Genevieve  has  consented  to 
become  my  mate. 

BURKE:    Do  you  mean  your  wife? 

ROBERT:  (Annoyed)  Well,  I  suppose  it  will  come  to  the 
same  thing. 

BURKE  :   I  was  afraid  of  it ! 
ROBERT  :    Afraid  ? 

BURKE  :  Yes.  Robert  you  must  make  up  your  mind  to 
relinquish  Genevieve. 

ROBERT:    I'm  afraid  I  don't  understand. 

BURKE  :  You  must  give  her  up.  Marriage  between  you 
is  out  of  the  question. 

ROBERT  :    I  really  don't  follow. 

BURKE  :    I   can't  explain.     It's   impossible — that's  all. 

ROBERT  :  That  isn't  all  by  a  long  shot.  How  do  you 
mean  impossible? 

BURKE  :    I  mean  simply  that  you  can't  marry  Genevieve. 

ROBERT :    Why  ? 

BURKE:    Because — because — well,  because  I  forbid  it. 

ROBERT:    (Ominously)    Forbid? 

BURKE:   Yes. 

97 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 
ROBERT:    If  this  is  a  joke,  I  consider  it  very  ill-timed. 

BURKS:  It's  not  a  joke.  I  never  was  more  in  earnest  in 
my  life.  (As  Robert  is  about  to  explode)  Listen  to  me 
for  a  moment.  Have  I  ever,  within  your  memory,  for 
bidden  you  to  do  anything? 

ROBERT:    (Belligerently)  I  should  think  not. 

BURKE:  Exactly.  You  were  brought  up  on  the  principle 
that  a  human  being  is  a  free  agent ;  that  the  aim  of  human 
life  is  unrestricted  self-expression  and  .  that  unqualified 
freedom  of  thought,  speech  and  conduct  is  the  sine  qua 
lion  of  an  endurable  existence.  I  have  never  in  the  least 
degree  attempted  to  curtail  your  liberty.  Even  when  you 
were  an  infant,  I  insisted,  at  the  cost  of  interminable  collo 
quies  with  your  mother  and  the  neighbors,  upon  your  right 
tc  cry  whenever  you  elected  to  do  so. 

ROBERT  :    Well,  what's  the  good  of  going  into  all  that  ? 

BURKE  :  Merely  to  convince  you  that  I  would  not  lightly 
oppose  or  attempt  to  restrain  any  wish  or  desire  of  yours. 
But,  in  this  instance,  I  regard  the  obstacle  to  your  marriage 
to  Genevieve  as  of  sufficient  importance  to  over-ride,  for 
once,  my  principles,  and  to  justify  my  arbitrary  refusal  to 
permit  the  marriage  to  be  consummated. 

ROBERT:  Father,  I've  listened  to  you  with  a  great  deal 
of  patience — with  more  patience  than  I  would  have  given 
myself  credit  for  possessing — because  I  have  observed  from 
time  to  time  that  misguided  and  deplorable  as  your  con 
duct  usually  is,  it  is  always  actuated  by  praiseworthy  mo 
tives.  But  if  you  think  that  any  attempt  upon  your  part 

98 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

to  oppose  my  marriage  to  Genevieve  will  meet  with  any 
thing  but  a  militant  response,  you  do  my  self-respect  an 
injustice. 

BURKE:  Then  you  refuse  to  break  your  engagement  to 
Genevieve  ? 

ROBERT:  Not  only  do  I  refuse  to  break  the  engagement, 
but,  instead  of  marrying  her  three  weeks  from  now,  as  was 
my  original  intention,  I  shall  marry  her  to-morrow.  (Look 
ing  at  his  watch)  By  thunder,  I'll  do  it  to-night! 

BURKE:  (With  determination)  Very  well.  There  is 
nothing  left  for  me  then,  but  to  tell  the  truth. 

ROBERT  :  Well,  go  ahead.  But  I  assure  you  that  what 
ever  it  is,  it  won't  have  the  slightest  effect  upon  me. 

BURKE:  (Clearing  his  throat)  Robert,  freedom  has  al 
ways  been  the  key-note  of  your  life.  You  were  suckled  at 
the  sacred  fount  of 

ROBERT:    But  why  go  over  all  that  again? 

BURKE:  So  that  you  will  not  allow  your  judgment  to  be 
colored  by  your  passions  when  you  hear  what  I  have  to 
tell  you.  In  your  life,  respect  for  tradition  has  played  no 
part.  You  have  been  taught,  and  rightly,  to  scoff  at  laws, 
at  regulations,  at  social  conventions,  at  antiquated  codes  of 
morality.  These  things  are  but  chains  which  bind  us  to 
the  dead  past.  In  order  to  be  free  we  must  strike  off  these 
shackles 

ROBERT:  (Interrupting)  For  the  love  of  Haeckel,  why 
dc  you  always  talk  as  though  you  were  in  Cooper  Union? 

99 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

BURKE):  I'm  simply  trying-  to  remind  you  that  while  I 
was  inculcating  this  spirit  of  liberty  in  you,  I,  of  course, 
reserved  to  myself  the  right  of  freedom  of  conduct — the 
right  of  self-expression 

ROBERT:    For  pity's  sake,  get  to  the  point! 

BURKE:  You  cannot,  therefore,  be  very  greatly  surprised 
to  learn  that  Genevieve  is  your  half-sister. 

ROBERT:    (Thunder-struck)    My ! 

BURKE:   Yes. 

ROBERT:    (Furious)    You — you — 

BURKE:  (Holding  up  a  warning  hand)  Robert,  re 
member  ! 

ROBERT:  (Trying  to  control  himself)  Of  course.  It's 
rather  sudden,  you  know. 

BURKE:  (After  a  moment)  Well,  what  have  you  to 
say? 

ROBERT:  (Gulping  hard)  Nothing.  Except  that  it's 
damned  unfortunate  that  your  self-expression  had  to  take 
the  form  of  Genevieve. 

BURKE  :   Needless  to  say,  marriage  is  out  of  the  question. 

ROBERT:  Of  course.  (Querulously)  It  seems  to  me, 
father,  that  you  might  have  considered  me  just  a  little  more. 

BURKE:  (Apologetically)  You  were  very  young  at  the 
time.  I'm  genuinely  sorry  about  it,  but— 

ROBERT  :   Well,  there's  no  use  talking  about  it.     It  should 

100 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

be  a  lesson  for  you  for  the  future,  though.     Are  you  going 
to  tell  mother? 

BURKE:    Well — er — I  wasn't  exactly  planning  to. 
ROBERT  :    She's  got  to  know  it. 
BURKE:    Why? 

ROBERT  :  Because  I  told  her  that  I  was  going  to  ask 
Genevieve  to  marry  me. 

BURKE:    Can't  you  say  that  Genevieve  refused  you? 

ROBERT:  (Haughtily)  Do  you  think  that  even  a  credu 
lous  woman  would  believe  that  Genevieve  refused  me? 

BURKE:    Tell  her  I'm  opposed  to  the  marriage. 

ROBERT  :  She  knows  that  wouldn't  have  the  slightest 
effect  upon  me. 

BURKE:    (Rubbing  his  chin)  This  makes  it  very  awkward. 
ROBERT:   Are  you  afraid  to  tell  her? 

BURKE:  (Bristling)  Afraid?  Certainly  not.  But  your 
mother  is — well — just  a  little  old-fashioned  and  she  may 
rot  see  things  just  as  you  and  I  do. 

ROBERT:    Do  you  think — (The  door  opens) 

BURKE:    ?Sh !     Here  she  is  now.     (Mrs.  Burke  enters) 

MRS.  BURKE:    Good  evening  John.     May  I  come  in? 

BURKE:  Just  wait  a  few  minutes,  Felicia.  (She  is  about 
to  go  out  again) 

101 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 
ROBERT  :    No,  come  in,  mother. 
BURKE:    No,  wait! 
ROBERT:    Come  in,  I  tell  you. 

MRS.  BURKE:  (Who  has  been  bobbing  back  and  forth) 
Well,  what  am  I  to  do?  I'd  like  to  get  those  socks,  if  it's 
possible. 

ROBERT  :    There's  no  use  putting  things  off,  father. 
BURKE:    (With  a  sigh)    Very  well. 
ROBERT:    Come  in,  mother. 

MRS.  BURKE:  Thank  you,  dear.  (She  goes  to  the  table 
and  resumes  her  darning) 

ROBERT:  (After  an  awkward  pause)  Father,  I'll  talk  to 
mother.  I'm  more  tactful  than  you.  Just  leave  us  alone 
together. 

BURKE:  (Rising)  Thank  you,  my  boy.  (He  is  about  to 
go) 

MRS.  BURKE  :  Dinner  is  at  seven,  John.  Try  to  be  ready. 
(Holding  up  a  sock)  And  I  wish,  dear,  that  you  wouldn't 
insist  upon  giving  your  toes  so  much  liberty.  It's  awfully 
hard  on  your  socks. 

BURKE:  Yes,  of  course.  (He  throws  a  last  look  at 
Robert  and  goes  out) 

ROBERT:  (After  a  moment)  Mother,  there's  something 
I  want  to  talk  to  you  about. 

102 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 
MRS.  BURKE:   Yes,  dear.     Is  it  about  Genevieve? 
ROBERT:   Yes.     (He  stops) 
MRS.  BURKE:    Did  you  ask  her? 
ROBERT  :   Yes. 
MRS.  BURKE:    And  she — ? 
ROBERT  :    Accepted,  of  course. 

MRS.  BURKE:  (Effusively)  Oh,  how  lovely!  I  con 
gratulate  you,  dear.  She's  just  the  girl  for  you.  I  hope 
you'll  be  very  happy. 

ROBERT:  (Stopping  her)  I  have  just  learned  that  it  is 
impossible  for  me  to  marry  her. 

MRS.  BURKE:    Vv ~hy,  what  do  you  mean? 

ROBERT:  I'm  going  to  tell  you.  It's  a  little  difficult  for 
me  to  explain — • — 

MRS.  BURKE:    I'm  completely  bewildered,  Robert. 

ROBERT  :  As  you  know,  mother,  father  and  I  are  very 
liberal  in  our  views.  We  believe  in  absolute  and  un 
qualified  freedom.  To  us  society's  taboos  and  restrictions 
are  but  so  many  barriers  between  the  individual  and  the 
expression  of  his  will.  It  is  our  belief  that  all  mob-im 
posed  standards  of  conduct  and  codes  of  morality  should 
be  swept  aside. 

MRS.  BURKE  :    Yes,  but  I  don't  see 


ROBERT:    I'm  coming  to  that.     Father  and  I  have  from 

103 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

time  to  time  endeavored  to  convert  you  from  your  —  well, 
let  us  say,  old-fashioned  way  of  thinking  to  our  own 
broader  views.  But  without  success. 

MRS.  BURKE:   I'm  so  sorry,  dear.     I've  really  tried  to  — 

ROBERT  :  Don't  mention  it.  I'm  not  blaming"  you.  But 
the  point  I  want  to  make  is  that  you  should  not  be  sur 
prised  or  shocked  to  learn  of  conduct  on  our  part  which 
you  would  regard  as  —  shall  we  say  —  unconventional. 

MRS.  BURKE:  (Worried)  Why,  Robert  what  have  you 
been  doing? 

ROBERT:    It  doesn't  concern  me.     It's  father. 
MRS.  BURKE:    (Relieved)    Oh,  I'm  glad  of  that. 

ROBERT  :  It  is  natural,  in  view  of  what  I  have  been  say 
ing,  that  father  has  now  and  then,  over-stepped  what  your 
conservative  mind  regards  as  the  limits  of  propriety. 

MRS.  BURKE:   I  suppose  so. 


ROBERT  :  So  that  it  needn't  be  a  matter  of  great  surprise 
to  you  to  learn  that  the  reason  that  I  can't  marry  Genevieve 
is  that—  that—  that— 

MRS.  BURKE:   Yes. 

ROBERT  :  That  she  —  that  is  to  say,  that  father  —  because  I 
—I—  father  - 


MRS.  BURKE:   Whatever  is  it,  dear? 

ROBERT:    (With  a  great  effort)    In  a  word,  Genevieve  is 
my  half-sister.     There!     I've  told  you! 

104 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

MRS.  BURKE:    You  mean ? 

ROBERT:   Exactly. 

MRS.  BURKE:    Oh!   (She  darns  thoughtfully) 

ROBERT  :    You  mustn't  be  too  hard  on  father 

MRS.  BURKE:  No,  no.  (After  a  pause)  About  your 
marriage  with  Genevieve,  dear. 

ROBERT  :    That's  out  of  the  question,  of  course. 

MRS.  BURKE:    Not  at  all. 

ROBERT:   What? 

MRS.  BURKE:    Go  on  with  your  plans  just  the  same. 

ROBERT  :  But  mother,  you  don't  seem  to  understand. 
Genevieve  is  father's  daughter. 

MRS.  BURKE  :  I  understand  dear.  But  that  doesn't 
matter. 

ROBERT:  Doesn't  matter?  Why  it  makes  me  her  half- 
brother  ! 

MRS.  BURKE:     (Quietly)     No  it  doesn't. 
ROBERT  :    What  ? 

MRS.  BURKE  :  It's  quite  all  right,  dear.  I  assure  you  that 
there  is  no  relationship  whatever  between  you  and  Gene 
vieve. 

ROBERT:    (Almost  speechless)    You  mean  I'm  not 

MRS.   BURKE:     Just  SO. 

105 


THE     MORNINGSIDE     PLAYS 

ROBERT:  Well!!!!!  (He  sinks  into  a  chair,  completely 
overcome) 

MRS.  BURKE:  (Darning  quietly)  You  see  dear,  it  was 
the  fault  of  my  education.  I  had  always  been  taught  that 
it  is  a  wife's  duty  to  live  up  to  her  husband's  principles. 
(She  sighs)  Oh,  dear,  I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  finish  these 
socks.  (A  pause)  I  always  thought  that  girl  had  John's 
nose. 

THE  CURTAIN  FALLS 


106 


I'JuAYS 


LOAN  DEPT 


G1"pe" 


,1 


n  One  Act. 
'Boards  .i 

•anJc  Wede; 

$!.( 

By  Franl 


chergeray  :n 
ti 

cts.     By   Bi 
$!.( 

One-Act 


•aid. 

S.  L,  Reizen- 


w  York  Ci 


Photomount 

Pamphlet 

Binder 

Gaylord  Bros.,  Inc. 

Makers 
Stockton,  Calif. 

PAT.  JAN.  21,  1908 


369869 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


